Eulogy for a White Rose
by patnkatz
Summary: What fuels Captain Harlock's great desire for Freedom? Is it hatred for the aliens who invaded his Homeworld, his exile at the hands of those who should have cheered him on, or something far different...
1. Chapter 1

**Eulogy for a White Rose**

The story below is an offering timed for Valentine's Day and in celebration of Freedom and the fight against oppressors, wherever they might be found, in whatever type of skin and system of belief. There are times we all wish for the Arcadia to arise...

Captain Harlock, his crew and the Mighty Arcadia are all the inventions of Leiji Matsumoto, the Master of Romantic Anime. Harlock is a hero disguised as an anti-hero, following his dream of Freedom as we all yearn for and must fight for True Freedom.

I always wanted to know more about his relationship with Maya and have postulated here that they were indeed married. Her words here are a direct translation from My Youth in Arcadia.

This story fits (somewhat) into the continuity of My Youth in Arcadia and SSX. I have also blended the crews of several series and Tochiro is alive. Mr. Matsumoto reinvents his universe from time to time, so I'm jumping on that bandwagon with him!

Hopefully, these chapters, which are part of a larger work, will be pleasing to those who love the good Captain as much as I do!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tochiro ran along the corridor of the Arcadia, trying to find the Captain. Everyone was looking for him. They had tried to Com him, but he wasn't in any of his usual "I want to be alone" places. He had been "in a mood" all that week and everyone had been trying NOT to cause him to get worse. It hadn't worked, of course, for Harlock had set a brutal pace with drills, exercises and battle simulations; each drill and simulation more difficult than the last. He had gotten them to recount what was stored in the hold three times and had them also check each of the 118 battle moons. For the last day, everyone, including Tochiro and Mimee, had been avoiding him whenever possible and now he couldn't be found!

Mimee tried to contact Harlock by telepathy, but he wasn't within range somehow. How could he be out of range on a battleship? The Arcadia was large, but not THAT large! Engineer Maji went into the Space Wolf boat bay to see if Harlock's personal flyer was still on board. It wasn't. That was odd, for no alarms had gone off alerting the bridge to any launch. He punched in to the Com. "He's not here - his flyer is gone." The bridge personnel all looked at each other in dismay, wondering where their Captain had gone and why he hadn't let anyone know where he was going - and how he had gotten out without anyone, including Tochiro, being any the wiser!

It had been obvious to everyone that he was struggling with something, but they had no idea what that something might be. Yattaran then ordered an all halt. The great and powerful Arcadia stopped in space and time to await her master's return. Tochiro pensively paced in the engine room, the now still heart of the Arcadia. He suddenly remembered the date back on Earth. His fist struck his palm in frustration. He should have remembered for now he knew why his friend had been so temperamental of late.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It had been three years - 1,095 days by an Earth calendar. He still couldn't believe that she was gone. That he wouldn't hear her call his name, scold him for something he'd done, or not done! Encourage him when things were tough and tell him to hold tight to his dreams - that they were worth fighting for. He'd never again feel the soft weight of her long blonde hair across his chest as they lay together, holding each other tightly. He's never hear her laugh again, or see excitement in her beautiful blue eyes, the color of the lakes of their native Thuringia, except in his dreams. That after all they had both sacrificed they wouldn't finally be together. His chest hurt at the thought of it. It was like someone had carved out a hole in his heart and left a black hole behind. He felt hollow inside. Numb.

He forced his eye(s) to the front of the cockpit of his Space Wolf fighter. He had had it fitted with worm hole drive and it could go vast distances using the new drive using the vibrating strings within the spheres of matter itself. It needed no other fuel, only the fabric of space and time. It was also stealthed at the moment; he could see but not be seen or marked. That would scare the crap out of them, he thought. Serve them right!

The white rose he held in his gloved right hand was beginning to fade, he thought sadly. A rose as her sigil, white and pure; held in gloves that she had made for him, embossed with the Harlock family sigil of the death's-head across the backs of his hands. He smiled gently, remembering when she had given him the gloves. And he remembered her pricked fingers from working the gold bullion into the gloves. She hadn't wanted him to know about her hands - so she had put them into long white gloves to hide the small wounds, but the blood had seeped through in a couple of spots, so he had known the cost of his gloves. Neither of them remarked on her hands, but she knew that he had known. They always knew what the other was thinking - it came of long history and hearts that were attuned to each other. He remembered dancing with her that night, her elegantly upswept hair that he hadn't been allowed to touch, the flowing white ball gown and long white gloves as he guided her in a Viennese Waltz across the floor, having eyes for nothing but the ethereal woman in his arms.

As he looked forward to the front of the cockpit, towards Sol's glare, he lowered the solar shield so that he could still see. It would be soon, now, he thought. He had calculated the trajectories and the decay of the orbits to this date, this time. He enlarged the view screen so that he didn't have to get too close to the fury of the star. He wanted to honor them. Especially her. Maya. His love and his heart, for he had obviously lost both that day when she died.

Hence his moods and darkness since then, his fury at those who would enslave Earth by taking their hope, their freedom and their future. So he fought. Again and again and again. Over and over - a new threat came constantly now, because the people of Earth had forgotten who they were. And now they were easy pickings for those who sought to use and destroy the bright blue world spinning off in the distance.

She had tried to keep them remembering who they were, the people of Earth, she'd tell them not to forget and spun verbal pictures of the world that Earth had been and hopefully, one day would be again. And because her message was one of hope and love, she had been cruelly hunted down and murdered by those who sought to murder the Earth as well. His hand tightened on the rose and the stem broke in his grasp. He would not forget, nor forgive - some things were not possible for him to forgive.

He knew that there were others who remembered, still fought the good fight to protect and defend. His hope was in those people. Her hopes would have been with them, too. He opened a tight angle data stream towards the bright blue world off in the vast distance with a strong enough burst to override all other data played at that moment. He smiled mirthlessly at the thought of the invader boot-licking human officials scrambling to cut off the data feed. He played for all of them her words of hope , even to the ones who had sold their souls to the invaders.

'This is the voice of Free Arcadia. Let us go to the desert, bearing flowers. Let us go to meet hope, bearing flowers. I am Maya. People of Earth, I wanted to keep calling to you, always, I wanted to keep on singing with you. But I cannot go on any longer. Please forgive me. This is the voice of Free Arcadia, this is..."

His mind wandered to her last living words to him as she lay dying in his arms. "Harlock... I believed ... that you would surely come back... that you were the kind of man who would surely keep even a promise to a dead friend. Let us go together.. to that Sea of Stars. I have been dreaming all along of going to the Sea of Stars with you, like Heiligenstadt, our Arcadia, where we ran together...I had so many things to say to you... So many things to ask you. "

Harlock bowed his head in grief. It may have been three years, but the wound was as if it had been inflicted upon his heart that very hour. He swallowed and blinked his eye(s) rapidly to clear them for they had suddenly clouded over for some reason. He then followed the feed with her last message to him. He played it on the Arcadia when his heart, mind, soul and body were weary of battle and he needed fresh resolve.

Since there were many on Earth who were also weary of battle, he hoped it would give them fresh resolve, too. Fight! He willed at them, fight the hopelessness, ennui and passiveness. Fight your fears and desires to just let the enemies of mankind and the universe have its way with you. Fight, damn it! Fight and live! If only he could give them his strength, determination and hope! He punched the toggle again for the final feed release. Maya's voice filled the cockpit and echoed on every data screen and broadcast frequency on the Earth. Anything with Video pickup also displayed the Flag of Freedom as Maya's voice was heard across the conquered and crumbling cities of Earth.

" You who are setting out now with the Flag of Freedom flying, 'til the day when you again return. Goodbye. I believe that no matter how far you may be you will never forget Earth. No one can stop you setting out on your journey under your flag. Goodbye. But it is because you are such a man, one who has always believed in tomorrow, never losing dreams and hope, that I remember with pride the days when I talked with you. I pray your future will be as you believe. Goodbye, my Harlock. Please live, no matter what. I can see the red fire of belief in the future burning in your heart. I can see the fire burning of a man who will not betray a friend. It is because you are such a man that I love you. I'll become one of those fires in your heart. I will become one with that fire and burn forever, Harlock."

Maya's voice stopped and he toggled the feed to off. He wondered how panic stricken the invaders were and what the cowards who kowtowed to them were doing. Probably running around in fear, trying to figure out if he was there with the Arcadia to take his vengeance upon them. The thought of that made him grin sourly. He'd love to cause them some sleepless nights. Harlock turned his attention to the display in front of him. The sun's corona was brilliant and active with solar flares erupting from its surface. Rather like the fire in his belly.

At that moment, he saw through the cockpit shield, missile shell tubes, bearing Mira, then Zoll and finally, Maya, into the brilliant corona of the sun. There was a momentary flare and then they were gone. As they went into the sun's corona, he raised his right hand to his forehead in an ancient, time honored salute, to these his honored dead. He watched the entire process and didn't flinch when the sun took Maya into its fiery embrace. He fingered the gold bullion stitched on the backs of his gloves. Those gloves, a wedding band, some pictures of happier times, and a single, now broken and wilted white rose, were all he had left of her. "Burn within me, Maya, and I will see you again, somewhere at the end of time, in the Sea of Stars", he whispered. "I intend to fight until I am nothing but bones," was his quiet vow.

Silently, he set course back to where the Arcadia awaited for her Master and Commander. He punched the intergalactic coordinate codes into the NavComp, slid into a wormhole and out of the orbit of Sol and her attendant planets, one of whom had spacecraft boiling off of it, all intent on finding the elusive Captain of the Arcadia.

They would be too late, of course. For he was gone, to return another day to bedevil them again. And again. For however long it would take to free the Earth and her people. He had all of time and space to do it in, but they had to be a part of it. Freedom was expensive - its cost was that of the blood of those who fought and died for it - and until they shook off their fear and ennui, he would have to remind them of their sacred trust. And try to keep them fed until they remembered. Where there was life, there remained hope. If the price on his head was an indication of his effectiveness, he was actually getting somewhere...

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harlock blended back into normal space and admired the Arcadia from the outside. Tochiro was an engineer of the First Water. In fact, he may well be the best engineer in all of time, Harlock thought. The Arcadia was a blend of an ancient whimsical design of a Pirate Sea Frigate, a Second World War submarine and a modern space faring warship of the thirtieth century. With an external auxiliary bridge he could ride the Arcadia and pilot her across time and space using his body on sensory deck plates to guide altitude, loft and lift as they applied to space, and the archaic looking wheel and bar to guide the ship laterally as an extension of himself. It gave him deadly wings.

It even had a flag that fluttered in the solar winds of space. Noir, Deaths-Head superior and crossed humerus bones inferior, Argent. He smiled. Despite the actions and battles, Maya's handiwork still survived there, too. Who would have thought that a flag made three years ago by the hands of his beloved Maya would have survived all the battles of the past years since their exile from Earth?

She had also made his current "uniform". Very dramatic, it was, too! A black skin-tight flight suit also bearing his family's sigil on his chest - rather hard to miss... It bore gold zippers on the seams and had a blue veed area at the neckline that she had liked against his skin coloring. He smiled as he remembered opening the case containing his garb and the flag. She had even enclosed his gold spurs as the Pirate Knight of Arcadia, not to mention his powerful Gravity Saber.

Then he had pulled out the cape. He had almost laughed, but then had read her note. "This is a bit dramatic, but you will need this in close quarters battle as the enemy will not be able to hit you easily with this flapping around you, hiding your form." It did give him an air of mystery, distance and authority, he supposed. Cavalier boots with knee guards had completed the outfit, but since he wasn't going near any horses on a starship, he normally folded the cuffs down to below his knees. There were also knives secreted in carriers on either forearm and also in boot sheaths. Along with his Gravity Saber, he carried the equally powerful Cosmodragoon that Tochiro had built for him.

He also wore body armor, but that wasn't as easy to tell at first glance. Maya had actually made his garments out of temperature controlled flexible body armor and they were extremely tough and durable - a normal dragoon pistol's shot would be deflected, though his own Cosmodragoon's bolt would pierce it easily. It was probably a good idea to be this well protected with as much trouble that found him!

He piloted the Space Wolf to the docking bay. He keyed on his Com and squirted a communication to his ship. "I'm back. We leave in 20 minutes," and cut the Com as he didn't feel like answering questions at that moment. He was certain they were probably a little annoyed with him. He hadn't been in the best mood of late and had worked the crew very hard. Now, in spite of and indeed perhaps because of, they would put all of that into practice. Harlock acknowledged that he still had a huge black hole in his heart, but somehow, it wasn't quite as painful as it had been earlier that day. He suspected that he would grieve for Maya a long time and wondered if he would ever get over her death. "Not likely," he mused. No, his commitment to freedom and his vow to her would never be forgotten. The very stars themselves would fade, first.

He entered the bridge, mounted the bar and grasped the wheel of the mighty warship. He planted his feet at shoulder width on the deck plates to activate them, causing his spurs to jangle. He set his eyes on the forward view screen, then his crew, and finally to Tochiro, who nodded gravely. Harlock raised his hand from the wheel pointed to _there_ and commanded, "Arcadia, Hasshin!" The ship leapt forward at his command, guided by the solid stance and pressure of his feet, the weight of his body and his sure hand upon the wheel. It might be archaic looking, but the Arcadia was a joy to pilot.

His thoughts were fierce. The invaders were already shaking in their boots. He'd go and reinforce that fear. A wolf's smile came across his scarred and one-eyed face. Besides, he liked blowing stuff up - it was fun. The crew's faces mirrored his as they reasoned that the week's drills were now going to be put in practice.

The invaders should be afraid. After all, the Arcadia was a symbol of freedom along with being the toughest battleship ever made, anywhere at any time. She slipped through the strands of the spheres easily guided by her Captain and emerged into normal space outside of the orbit of Saturn, above the plane of the ecliptic, the site of their new test. They looked down on the disk of humanity's birthplace and upon a distant single marble-like sphere, blue with white clouds on its surface. Resolve hardened their faces as they prepared to battle the invaders. "Red Signals to all hands, prepare for battle."

Harlock swung the Arcadia into a graceful dive into the solar system's rotational plane. He commanded the stealth to be removed at the last moment as they pounded into the alien's base on the moon called Lapetus in orbit around the turbulent gas giant of Saturn. The aliens mounted a counter attack in all confusion as Harlock had caught them by surprise yet again. "Let's pull their teeth - target their communications and the protective base cannons," Harlock ordered, "but leave the storage and hydroponics facilities alone. Battle Plan Red, Execute."

After destroying the base's communication center in a single salvo, Tochiro and Yattaran proceeded to pulverize the base's protective armament in a steady fire from the main and auxiliary cannons. The power of the Arcadia's bombardment shredded the heavy ground mounted cannon. The aliens mounted a counter volley against the Arcadia before the shredding was completed. While the shields of the ship would hold, Harlock knew that if any of that volley hit directly, they could be in trouble for ground mounted armament and ordinance was far heavier than what was normally possible in a warship, even one such as the Arcadia. It was why a surprise attack was more useful against such armament.

He made an impossible move with the Arcadia as if she was as small as a regular fighter. Nimbly, he avoided a cavalcade of missiles and threaded his way closer to his target. He bore into the installation, and they quickly took out most of the defensive armament in a matter of five minutes.

The base fielded fighters to repel the Arcadia. "Space Wolf Teams Alpha, Beta, and Gamma, launch," commanded Harlock. Three teams of the Arcadia's fighter pilots launched from the bay of the great ship. Each team only consisted of ten Space Wolves, but they were as tough as cruisers, able to be stealthed and carried a payload of 14 tons of nuclear, laser and heavier grazer bombs. Not to mention the Grazer Gatling guns - an invention of Tochiro's from a year ago that required no fueling as they also used the fabric of space itself for powering the deadly guns as well as the tough ships shields made from the same fabric, molded differently. Useful when supplies were so difficult to come by. All of this packed into a ship as comparatively tiny as a flyer. Thirty ships so armed could hold their own against a much larger and seemingly better armed force.

The Space Wolves were feared in their own right and Harlock's face mirrored those of his fighter pilot's faces - a fearsome grin, deadly in intent. They launched counter measures that beguiled the enemy's missiles, then spiraled, dodged, jinked and seemed to magically avoid any involvement with the alien's fighters - other than to pound them into stardust. The enemy could afford a battle of attrition. Harlock could not, so his pilots had to be better than anyone else - and they were because experience was a wonderful teacher. The Space Wolves caused a heavy toll on the defending fleet. Harlock left them no quarter, no mercy, and no room to maneuver as he guided the Arcadia as nimbly as if she were the 31st fighter plane. And she had heavier firepower capacity, to boot. In fact, this attack underlined the fact that the Arcadia was more formidable than the heavy base mounted cannons they had encountered here. Harlock had wanted to test them against the Arcadia in a more controlled situation, hence this exercise. He gave a feral grin. The Arcadia was better by far and this was a very good thing to know!

He maneuvered ever closer, leaving them no room for purchase against him or his fleet of Space Wolves. He held them at bay between the hard surface of the moon and the unforgiving barrage of his firepower. Eventually, they were no more. He had gutted their command and communications center early on in the pitched battle - the better to cause confusion - which it had.

The entire battle had lasted 30 minutes. Much debris circled the now quiet moon, where moments before chaos had reigned.

"No vital signs apparent on the moon or in any of the wreckage," Mimee said quietly. "I don't sense anyone alive down there. The storage areas read to be mostly intact - some damage happened as a result of their facilities and flyers crashing into them as they were destroyed. Probably a 75% save rate. The hydroponics domes are secure and undamaged."

"Good," said Harlock. "Strike the anchor nearby." An anachronistic looking ships anchor sprang from the flank of the Arcadia. It was actually a tractor beam, but since Tochiro liked ancient symbols of the maritime, he had whimsically added the picturesque anchor.

Harlock ordered the reclamation team to advance. Their target was the food supplies contained within the hydroponics domes and the store houses from the various star farms. If they were lucky they would find a delivery schedule from the now alien controlled Star Farms. IF they were very lucky, they would find more supplies and food for the starving people of Earth. He donned his EV suit and flew down to the surface of the moon as he didn't want the Arcadia to power down. "We need to be done in an hour and a half," Harlock called over the suit Com. "Reinforcements likely will be able to be here in about 120 minutes and we need to be gone by then." The Aye, Sir's" filtered back to him over the Com links.

He joined the team in what was left of the command center. He wanted to know if there was anything valuable left in the main battle computer that would give him an edge. They spread out and checked for any Comp that still had life in it. One flickered by the command chair, which was occupied by a dead alien. Good. One less of them, he thought. He rifled through the Comp's commands and then removed the data core to take back with him to the Arcadia for review. As he looked at it, he was relieved to find that it hadn't been wiped yet. Excellent, he thought, they didn't have time or the sense to dump the memory core. They probably thought that they had more time and that they would beat him.

"Sir," said Harley, over at the communication and science station. "I've found out that a major food shipment will be coming to this facility in about thirty minutes and these poor saps didn't have time or the ability to squawk out a do not approach order." He grinned. "How much food were we looking for?"

Harlock looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, not to be greedy, but how much is there?"

"Enough to feed Pre-war Europe, sir." He grinned. Harlock grinned back. The resistance movement was going to be VERY happy! The only problem was, with the condition of the base, how were they going to lure in the cargo ship and keep them fat, dumb and happy before they intercepted it? Then, they had to deliver the bonanza to the people who needed it, all under the noses of the Earth Gov toadies and their alien keepers. No, not a small problem but it had the benefit of being a great outcome if they could pull it off. No, WHEN they pulled it off. He was determined. And stubborn. Sometimes that particular attribute was as much a curse as it was a blessing. He started planning the sortie. Let's see... he mused and put his intelligent and resourceful mind to this new, different battle plan.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He was back on the Arcadia and looking over Tochiro's shoulder, watching as the smaller man worked on the data core from the Lapetus base. "Well?" Harlock asked as Tochiro raised his bespeckled face to meet his Captain's eye(s). "I'm in," said Tochiro, "and I think that we're in luck. The incoming freighter from Starfarm #5 is unmanned on robotic autopilot and is basically blind and dumb. Can't ask for a better combination if we're going to steal it."

Harlock thought it over for a moment. He crossed his arms on his chest as he considered the information. Harlock had thought that this would be the case, but had wanted to be certain as he didn't like to risk his men without a set of good odds. The glimmer of a plan formed in his mind that not only would feed a lot of people on Earth, but also make the alien invaders and their toadies in Earth Gov look like total idiots. Not bad, no, not bad at all...

He turned from Tochiro and strode towards the bridge with Tochiro in tow. "What are you thinking, Harlock?" "Oh, you'll see," he replied. "Something that I think you will like a lot." Damn, thought Tochiro, why does he always have to be so close-mouthed about these things? The engineer, builder and inventor of everything on the Arcadia couldn't always wrap his head around Harlock's plans. Sometimes those plans were downright dangerously brilliant and sometimes they were breath taking and audacious in scope. Tochiro was curious as to what Harlock would do with the freighter and its contents and how he was going to pull it off. Especially if they wanted to pull this little maneuver off again without causing the aliens to change an easy mark into a harder one for the next time...

Tochiro looked at his tall friend with his crossed arms and closed, scarred face as they entered the lift to the bridge and realized that the black cloud that had surrounded Harlock had left while his inner sadness remained. There seemed to be a renewed sense of purpose and determination in him. That could only be a good thing, in light of what date he knew this to be - the anniversary of Maya's death, their exile from Earth and the battle with Commander Zeda as they had left Earth to fight their own fight. Since then, they had struck where and when they could against the aliens but the Empire was so large and the enemy was numerous and held all the high cards. Harlock seemed to have had an epiphany in his outing and Tochiro wondered where it would take all of them.

They exited the lift and Harlock strode over to the bar and leapt easily onto the platform. He intently watched the magnified image of the freighter headed in their direction. He then asked Tochiro if he would be able to fold some space around the destroyed base on the planet below and change the coordinates of the space around them to that of the Arcadia. Tochiro blinked. Yeeeeesss, he could do that - why hadn't he thought of that before? He grinned, seeing Harlock's plan.

Tochiro manipulated the vibrating strands of the String Drive in a small way and caused the strands of matter around the Arcadia to vibrate with the same frequency and intensity as the ones on the destroyed base. He then projected the information within the strands themselves and was chuckling as he noted the space to fold, just so, perfectly mimicking the destroyed base. He modulated it to include his own idea - the storage facility on the base itself.

The freighter moved closer and sent out Friend/Foe handshake, which Kei then obligingly provided from their pirated information from the Base's Comp at Harlock's command. The hold of the Arcadia opened to receive the delivery of the badly needed supplies and food aboard the freighter. The freighter robotically unloaded the delivery, got a proper electronic "receipt" for that delivery from Kei and then dumbly trundled along its way back to the conquered Star Farm it had come from. Neat, clean and no damage to either the freighter or the Arcadia.

Tochiro snickered. The aliens would be hard pressed to figure out where the supplies had gone, as the freighter had "delivered" its supplies to a now destroyed base. The invaders wouldn't figure out how it was done, only that it had been done, he thought. They would suspect, but they wouldn't _know_...

Once the freighter was on its way, Tochiro unfolded space and returned all the strands to their former states. The Arcadia then quietly slid back into stealth and slipped _between _and was gone.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The invader forces that arrived 30 minutes later found a destroyed base, no supplies and completely empty hydroponic domes. There was no evidence as to who had attacked as the Data Comp core was gone, all backup systems were trashed beyond hope of salvage and there were no records or evidence as to what had happened, only the results of a massive attack and theft of all of the goods. Even all of the plant life in the hydroponics dome was gone. The commander of the force fumed. It could only have been Harlock, he thought. Without proof though, it wasn't going to be an easy sell - the damn pirate had admirers and they would say that without proof, one couldn't very well accuse the man, now could you... The humans and their inconvenient beliefs - "Innocent until proven guilty," Bah. Useless, the lot of them but until the High Command said so, they were to be given lip service. He snorted. He'd give them lip service, alright!

The commmander checked his own records and realized that the major shipment they had been scheduled to meet with was due only a short interval before, but there was no freighter in sight, nor its wreckage. He pounded the console in frustration. This could actually prove to be worse than the destruction of the base and the theft of all of its supplies! For the freighter was why they were even here. "Find that freighter!" He shouted. They searched the area for it without success. So, it was either destroyed with the base, or on its way home to the Starfarm. The commander ordered the ship to trace the freighter on the Starfarm route, hoping it had left before it had been destroyed or raided.

When they later caught up with the freighter and queried its documentation, they discovered a perfectly valid and proper receipt coded as if from the base itself that the freighter's Comp obligingly supplied along with an entirely empty hold. No breaches in protocol and everything was perfect. Right. A trusting soul would say the freighter had delivered before the attack and that everything had been destroyed in that attack. That is what the insurance people would say.

The commander howled with frustration and ground his back teeth. How had they done it? He KNEW it was Harlock... yet there was absolutely NO proof. Resigned, he returned to the base and set his recovery teams to the sad task of claiming the dead and clearing the space around the mutilated base for rebuilding.

He had already sent a message to High Command regarding the losses and had received an earful of invective in return. That food delivery was supposed to be a bribe for cooperation of a group of Earth people who were proving to be rather difficult. It was difficult to complete the rape of the planet for resources for your own world when you kept getting attacked in the process by the planet you thought you had conquered. Hence, the bribe to keep their children fed and the protestors quiet. So long as they had food, they didn't seem to care about anything else. Without food, they were a difficult people, as like to agree with you as to attack.

He grimaced. He'd do his duty, he thought, but just once, he'd like to get a piece of that damn pirate...and take all of these indignities out on his miserable, thrice damned human hide.


	2. Chapter 2

Eulogy for a White Rose, Chapter 2

_Nothing in this world is permanent. (German Proverb)_

The cold wind whipped down the broken city streets; carrying desiccated plant stems and trash as if they were tumbleweeds. Buildings that still stood were in poor repair, many leaned to the side and evidenced explosion damage. Others were but piles of rubble. There were tarps and boxes being used as portions of walls that were missing and sometimes one could see tattered blankets serving as walls inside of the partially destroyed buildings. Not all cities were in as poor repair, but no city had been left totally untouched.

People who were on the streets wore the warmest clothes they could find, often not quite heavy enough for the changes that had occurred in Earth's weather and topography over the past two years. It hadn't been bad the first year, but then the theft of the Earth's resources and how they were stolen by the conquerors began to tell on the weather and the quality of the crops grown and harvested in the subsequent two years.

The insects had been affected first - fewer bees for pollination, then fewer plants that needed pollinating. Amphibians who depended on the insects as food lost their environments from the drastic thefts of minerals, resources and habitat. Then the wild animals who fed on the amphibians had been affected from the decrease in food, for they too found less and less to eat. Fewer resources meant fewer prey animals and so the upper ranks of animals were affected next. Mankind was affected last and had noticed it late, and in some cases, not at all, for some do not see danger until after it has overtaken them. This in turn was now causing wide spread hunger across the Earth and her people. War, famine, and soon disease stalked the land.

Many people were left with an existence they could not have imagined just 5 years earlier. Some wondered how this could have happened and remembered the glory days of ease, plenty and leisure they had enjoyed. Those who remained, that is... For instead of the robust 22 trillion people Earth had supported, a mere 4 million remained following the collapse of all everyone had known. And this included those who had come home to the Earth and left her far flung and formerly rich colonies behind. It was a stunning reversal of fortune for the formerly blessed planet and its Federation of people, numerous star farms and the wide-spread and thriving colonies.

Some who survived did so by stealing from others who were not strong enough to stop them. Others banded together in smaller groups and worked together to make ends meet. Still others played on the sympathies of those who still were able to manage, albeit poorly. Even they did not have the same life they had held before. Some lost hope and subsisted on very little and eventually lost everything, including their lives. Most numbly hoarded what they could and shared what they dared. They stood in lines for food, water, and cut down the trees for fires and warmth while they sheltered in the rubble that remained of a conquered and shattered world. Joy was forgotten. Hope was spare. Loss was common.

The last and smallest group of surviving humans were those who survived by collaborating with Earth's conquerors and granted favors to those who supported their betrayal of Earth's own people. They were scornful of those who merely existed and did not embrace the change. They told themselves that it was the only way to survive and that if the others didn't want to live by working with the alien conquerors, well then, they deserved to die. They rarely assisted their fellows and were as like to walk by a starving child as they would pass a dead tree. It was a time where mankind's soul was tested and largely found to be lacking. The Earth was being harrowed, pruned and grafted into something no one recognized, something no one wanted.

There were a few bright spots, even in the misery of the shadow of death they walked in. There were a few people who were determined to not die, and to not allow either the Earth or her people to die. Despite the war, it's consequences and general post-war entropy, a core remained who remembered things as they were, as they ought to be and could be again, with the right sequence of events. They were the few who hoped, who cherished the dream of a Free Earth, restored in glory...They were the Resistance. And they had plans, oh yes, they had plans!

They frequently pointed to a symbol of their hope, the Arcadia, her Pirate Knight Captain and the sturdy crew who stoutly followed him through Hell and High Water. Yes, the Arcadia was a symbol, whispered on lips deep in the night when all seemed coldest and darkest, it shone as a beacon despite all the abuse and proclamations against it that the invaders could heap on their heads. It was both a prayer and a hymn to the future as well as a memory of the past when the people of the Earth were both proud and above all, free.

Best of all, the Arcadia and her crew figuratively and frequently thumbed their noses at the alien invaders and their toadies, showing them up to be what they all really were, users and persons of few ethics, little honor and no morals who touted their own superiority while they openly worked to destroy. The good Captain disabused them of their pharisaical viewpoints by rubbing their noses in their own evil on a rather alarmingly regular basis. He seemed to have a talent for it, he did, the downtrodden people would chuckle under their torn and tattered sleeves, secretly and not so secretly cheering him on. The Arcadia's name was painted on the sides of ruined buildings - "Long Live the Arcadia" was the most common verse. Frequently, the graffiti was placed right next to the "Wanted" posters bearing his scarred face, name and price.

This of course, infuriated the aliens and the turncoat humans who supported them. The current price on Harlock's head was impressively large at 6 million credits - enough to keep 50 people fed and housed for a lifetime. However high his head's price went and the harder they sought to eradicate and repudiate Harlock's name and reputation, the bigger his legend grew. He, a mere man, became larger than life to the remaining true people of Earth.

And it was on these people, the future of the Earth depended, in Harlock's own hopes and dreams. He, like his ancestors before him, had sworn to "pay rent" to protect his people and the Earth; his knightly vows remained unchanged and undimmed despite all that had gone before. He, the Pirate Knight and Captain of the mighty Arcadia would not cave in and would not lower his banner of freedom. No, he'd do everything in his power with his considerable arsenal to restore Earth and her people, no matter the personal cost. After all, he fought for what was deepest in his heart and that is something no one can sway once it is set on a course, for the deepest of hearts have the purest and hottest of cores, formed and molded in the earliest of times - his youth.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harlock and Tochiro had their heads together over at the computer link station. Kei sat at the navigation station, monitoring their flight path and idly wondered what they were doing. The theft of the supplies and foods from the Lapetus base and the star farm transport had been a huge bonanza along with being an absolutely thrilling battle adventure. Kei recalled both the swiftness of the battle along with its intense sequence with pleasure. She grinned. She was a lot different now than she had been a mere year before. She was now a warrior, blooded in battle.

Before coming aboard the Arcadia, she had been a very sheltered child, her father blunting the effect of the war and its consequences for his precious teenage daughter. One of several ugly facts of the alien invasion was that along with raping the Earth, they were also steadily winnowing the ranks of the young females of the human species. Without females, the race would die, so young females needed to be protected and her father had moved quickly to do just that. Her mother had been murdered early on in the war and her father had fled with Kei to comparative safety, but it had not been safe, nor far enough.

The first death she had witnessed was that of her father at the hands of the alien invaders. They had shot him down for basically no reason at all and she had feebly tried to protect him, not knowing anything about defense, or the gun she had tried to use. She had gotten thrown in prison for her trouble despite her youth - a death sentence at sixteen. After all, it was just as easy to get rid of one more with such a convenient excuse at hand.

Harlock had rescued her from the very jaws of death because he had promised her father that he would do so if needed, long before. They had apparently known each other briefly before the beginning of the war. That was one thing about the Captain, she thought, no matter what, he would keep his word. He always remembered and never, ever broke a promise. If she were to admit it to herself, she would have to admit that Harlock was her first real crush. He knew, of course, and she knew that he knew, so they both avoided the whole hero-worship thing she had going. After all, she was a seventeen year old girl and he a much older grown man of nearly 30 or so years, practically ancient from her perspective, not to mention being her Captain, so she realized that he was off limits. But a girl could dream...

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Yattaran was at the bar guiding the Arcadia while his Captain and Tochiro were working over at the computer station. He wished that Harlock would come and relieve him soon. He supposed that Harlock and Tochiro would tell him what the next heading would be fairly soon. While Yattaran loved piloting the Arcadia, his true passion was building incredibly accurate and detailed models of both ancient and modern war vessels. Yattaran was still very young, in his early twenties, but sometimes he seemed even younger with his obsessive hobby. He was also brilliant in engineering, having graduated from the top mechanical engineering school in his native Japan with the highest of honors right before the outbreak of the invasion. Under Tochiro and Harlock's guidance, he would become a very valuable resource in the days ahead. He just needed to grow into himself and gain confidence.

Yattaran looked over at Kei for a brief moment. He sighed. He had NEVER been good with girls. He had tried his best, but he was neither tall, handsome or witty. He was however, smart and had his own brilliance when challenged properly. He doubted that Kei, or any other girl as pretty as she was, would even give him a second glance. It hurt sometimes, but he was used to it and as a result, poured all of his love into model building and working as the Second on the Arcadia. The Captain trusted him to pilot the Arcadia and to provide input into battle situations. That was enough for now.

In fact, the Captain and Tochiro were the first people to notice him as something more than the "weird little guy with the models." For now, it was enough. The other thing, he thought cheerfully, was that from his position guiding the ship from the bar platform, he had a good view of the lovely Miss Kei Yuki. She might only be a teenage girl, but she was growing up to be a lovely young woman. He appreciated the view of both space on the forward view screen and the pretty girl in front of him. No, he hadn't done badly at all... He quietly whistled a tune as he piloted, calculating the next jump sequence in his head for practice, while he admired his two views.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Mimee was playing her harp in her quarters. The excitement had passed from the battle and she was playing a song from her home world that she had known since she was a very young child. Since the time of her youth was absolutely ancient compared with the ages of the rest of the crew, she had played this song for several thousand of their years. She paused her playing to sip from her fourth bottle of wine. Mimee was rather hungry from the excitement, so she sipped some more. It was a good song and the wine was nice, too. She resumed her playing while she thought.

Her mind slipped back to when she first met Harlock. He had rescued her from a dying world whose flora had gone mad. She shook her head. Who would have thought that she would devote her life to a short-lived human? But his soul-heart burned brightly and she could see it inside of him. For one of her race, it was rather difficult to miss, in fact. It was the most attractive thing about him, she thought, and there was a lot to like from the feminine perspective. She smiled inwardly at the irreverent thought. There weren't very many women aboard the Arcadia and Harlock was seemingly immune to the lot of them. But he had allowed her, a non-combatant , to board the Arcadia and live among them. She served as a counselor, advisor and negative energy sapper. As such, she calmed his heart when needed and that was frequent since Maya's death.

Maya, the star of Harlock's heart. When she died, his fire all but a supernovae already, had burned brighter somehow, as if her star had gone to reside in his heart for safekeeping. His heart was now shadowed but Maya's loving brightness lit the hallways, so to speak. Mimee wondered if he knew that. Probably not, humans had difficulty seeing past their physical beings. To her, though, he was as bright as any ten galaxy cores combined. He was at least touched by destiny, if not an actual fulcrum of history. She suspected the latter would prove to be true at the end of time. Everyone he touched was affected somehow, usually to the better unless their hearts weren't pure, and then they went darker. Interesting how that seemed to be so. He polarized people somehow by his very presence and actions.

She sensed that he was making a decision about their next move, so she put her harp aside and started for the door and the bridge. She would be needed soon and wanted to be there for him. She was also curious as to what he would do next. He was a complicated young man and it was rather fun to see what creative mayhem he could invent.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Attention- Arcadia, Second Command crew to the Bridge. Primary Command Crew, Department Heads and Space Wolf Team Leaders report to the atrium briefing room in 15 minutes. Harlock out." Harlock then turned from the Com and with Tochiro in tow, strode easily from the bridge, his spurs jangling musically in counterpoint to his steps. Tochiro's face was happy, as if he had a great secret to share. He went with Harlock, each two steps equaling one of Harlock's. The galling thing was, Harlock had slowed down to allow his best friend to keep up with him and Tochiro STILL had to hurry a bit! He clutched the Comp Pad he had been working with and had shoved the stylet behind his left ear. He often forgot where he last left it and Harlock often took great pleasure in teasing him unmercifully before he told his friend where it was located. It was a bit of a game between them.

As Harlock and Tochiro went through the Arcadia to the atrium briefing room, Harlock admired the work Tochiro had put into the ship. Most military vessels of similar caliber were spare and spartan in appearance. Function ruled the day in those vessels. Not so with the Arcadia. Along with the structural Duranium walls and framing, there were also wooden carved elements decorating the walls and the place where normally crown molding and chair rails would be in a regular home. It gave the ship an oddly homey feel. Since the ship was in fact, also their home as well as where they worked, this seemed just fine to Harlock.

They passed some off duty crew members who were relaxing, playing Go, or racing their rats. It was almost amusing to Harlock to see rats on the Arcadia. In earlier, ocean-faring ship times, rats would have been an unwelcome addition to the crew, but here, they were largely pets. The only troubles were with the ship's cat, Mi-kun and Tory Bird. They rather liked to chase the rats and sometimes this played havoc with just about everything! Harlock and Tochiro reached the corridor of the atrium room and entered.

To Harlock, this room was the "church" of the Arcadia. This room was very large for a briefing room on a ship and had a singular quality. The room opened up into a cathedral ceiling hung with great diamond and gold chandeliers to illuminate the entire area. At the front of the room, there was another spectacular feature, the floor to ceiling Duraplast window outlined with French windowpanes. Through this window, the local scenery of space could be observed. Harlock noted with amusement that Yattaran had placed them at an angle to view the cross-section of the entire Milky Way. The vast array of stars with the central bulge was spread diagonally across the window as if it was a brilliant lace curtain of sparkling multi-colored jewels. This illuminated the entire room and the great chandeliers weren't needed at the moment in order to see.

The conference table was set with comfortable wooden chairs. These were eclectic in style and were all hand-carved by craftsmen from Harlock's native region. They were also all priceless antiques collected by his family over the centuries. It was nice to have something there from their home world. In contrast to these chairs, the table was a sleek piece of Duraplast and Duranium set with very capable computer stations and plug-ins for the Comp Pads everyone used. Harlock plopped his Comp Pad at the table head by his chair. He then went to stand closer to the window to take in the spectacular view Yattaran had chosen. He never tired of it, space was cold and deadly, yes, but held a beauty he would never be able to leave. He truly was a spacer now; walking on worlds seemed a bit strange to him these days. Tochiro had dropped his pad by his place at Harlock's right. His station held the deceptively small but powerful computer that tied directly into the new supercomputer that he was building at the Arcadia's core.

As they awaited the others, Tochiro came beside his friend and they stared out the window together. "It's still there, Harlock," Tochiro said. "Yes, Toch, I know," Harlock replied. "But sometimes I just need to check." Tochiro adjusted the view somewhat so that one star on the outer rim of a spiral arm hove into view. With finer tuning, a small blue world focused. Its usual white clouds were lesser these days. As the aliens depleted the Earth of its resources, the weather patterns were changing and so was the topography. Harlock wondered idly how long it would take them to drain the oceans of their water and change the color from blue to dead brown. He clenched his fists at his sides. He just wanted to hurl the aliens across the universe and into a nice black hole, or barring that, back to where they had come from and to find a way to shut the door behind them.

As the command crew and department heads filtered into the room, Harlock continued to look at the Earth while Tochiro bustled about the room and greeted the pirates who came in. Some were a bit harried as they had been in the midst of repairs and restocking. Finally Harlock turned and went to his place at the table. He started without preamble.

"As you know, we were very fortunate this last battle. We had few problems, and overall, very light damage. No one was hurt or killed in action. We also scored quite a bonus with the hydroponics dome. What did we gain and are all of the plants transferred, Julia?" Harlock glanced at their Botanist, Julia DeBeaupara, for her report.

Julia DeBeaupara was yet one more of the crew's odd complement. She had been a horticultural expert in Paris who had been world renown prior to the war. Post war, there had been little for her to do as all of the schools had been closed down, especially the ones of higher learning. She had had a choice, to work for the aliens as they tightened their grip on Earth's people, or to leave with her knowledge and her precious heritage seeds in her purse. She had declined the "honor" of working with the aliens and had been locked out of her government sponsored home. Julia had had the clothes on her back, her bag with the precious seeds and ironically, her gym bag. All else was lost to her.

With her decision to not support the alien invaders, she also lost her ability to pay for food. Her savings was gone as the monetary exchange had collapsed at the end of the war, all monies had been confiscated and she was now penniless. Her university tenure also vanished as did her government sponsored pension. Her parents and other family had been killed in the battle for the planet. In short, she had no one and nothing other than what she carried. That, and hope in her heart.

She had been sleeping in the doorway of a defunct flower shop, near starvation, when Harlock found her. He had recognized her from the prewar photos celebrating her plant genetics work in the years prior to the war. Then, in a seemingly incongruous move of compassion, had offered her a place aboard the Arcadia. She had at first doubted the wisdom of this, for after all, what Botanist is needed aboard a pirate vessel? When she had come aboard, she was shocked to her core to find the fully functional but rather empty hydroponics pod tucked into the heart of the Arcadia. She had done amazing things since then to the areas she had control over.

"The hydroponics dome on Lapetus held 45 pure strains of vegetables and 26 varieties of hardwood trees," She said in a low but musical voice. "I have transplanted most of them, but will need help with 12 of the trees as they are over 50 feet in height." Harlock's eyebrow rose at that last statement since he knew quite well that if the trees themselves were 50 feet tall, that their root systems were very large and deep as well. She saw his brow rise and postured herself defensively. "We can manage it, sir. I have emptied out two storage compartments below the pods given to hydroponics in order to accommodate them."

Harlock's eyebrow threatened to climb up off of his head. He started to open his mouth to speak when Tochiro kicked him under the table in the shin. He glared at Tochiro, distracted, while Julia continued without a beat as if she hadn't seen him begin to speak. "Engineering said that the two compartments that were under the hydroponics area weren't fully utilized and that it would be easy enough to store what was in there somewhere else." She took a breath. "The good thing about this, is that many of these trees are near to putting out seeds, acorns and runners. We can propagate more from them once they are properly settled." She looked at him, set her jaw squarely and stuck out her chin as if daring him to shove her precious trees out the nearest airlock.

He sighed, sometimes his motley crew weren't entirely reasonable about things they were passionate about. "How are we going to be able to not just plant them, but also allow them to get bigger? I know that these trees are not all fully grown. That's a lot of dirt. And water. And ballast. How does a battleship become a forest and still be able to maneuver? I know that they would help with filtering out our carbon dioxide, but..." he raised his hands to either side in a helpless shrug. He had visions of tendrils across the entire ship with thick roots to trip the unwary. Since he was rather tall and blind in one eye, most likely he'd be the one banging his head on the branches and tripping over the roots. Not a plus in his CompPad.

Julia smiled at him. It would have been a nice smile if her bared teeth hadn't been showing. "Captain," she purred," Tochiro, Majji and I are way ahead of you on this one. Tochiro has found a way to contain the garden and forest in a time and space dimensional pocket. It will be bigger on the inside than the outside. The mechanics, mathematics and physics of it are beyond this poor botanist's comprehension, but Tochiro and Majji assure me that this pocket will be able to contain 2,225 hectares of woodlands alone. Which doesn't include the hydroponics garden we use for raising our own food. But I'm going to need everyone to help finish putting it together. So I've brought a sign up list for everyone to help."

At this statement, Harlock's other eyebrow joined its brother in amazement. He looked at Majji and then Tochiro, who were both grinning from ear to ear. Majji piped up at that moment, "Captain, it is so very cool!" Majji was very enthusiastically waving his arms around. "The neatest part of it is that this will NOT alter our gross weight or maneuverability one bit." Harlock looked at Tochiro for confirmation and relaxed somewhat when he saw Tochiro's confirming grin and nod. Everyone committed to helping plant the rest of the trees, even Harlock. Although he had to wonder how one went about transplanting a 50 foot tree. Not to mention how mathematics and physics would magically cancel out basic laws of mass, gravity and speed.

He sat back then, rather bemused, while for the next ten minutes the three of them waxed poetic about the advantages of carrying what amounted to a portable version of the forest of Thuringia inside of the Arcadia. It would scrub the air for them. It would make oxygen for them. They would be able to recycle water better for there were stones and dirt in order to manage filtration. Dead leaves would enrich the soil and then enrich anything else that grew. Better vegetables. A herd of cattle and other domestic farm animals. (Tochiro rather liked that one, as he was a huge fan of steak.) Harlock's mind was swirling from the realization that the forest and farm would require a farmer. He wondered where he was going to recruit one or probably a whole complement of THOSE from... He rolled his eye(s) and sighed awaiting the rest of them to wind down.

The briefing continued over the next hour of reports and jubilant sharing of the bounty from their raid. A large stock of Duranium had been discovered in one storage room. Extra parts for the engine. Jewels for trading. A store of wood for carving. Harlock himself sat up on that one as this was something he rather liked doing in his spare time.

The food stores from the Star Farm report from Harley got the meeting to where Harlock had wanted it to go before the budding forest revelation had started. "HOW much did we get?" Everyone was astonished. Harlock had saved this tidbit for last. He savored the words as he spoke them. "We have enough food from the Star Farm to feed pre-war Europe for two seasons," he said quietly. The room was dead silent as they all knew what this would mean to the people of Earth. As a group they leaned forward to hear what their Captain would do next.

"Now," said Harlock with a half smile, "let us plan how to get the food to the people who actually need it. Space Wolf leaders, I'm going to need all of you to figure out how to do silent runs with a heavy load and then return with no one the wiser. Cargo, you'll need to be able to re-supply on a rotating basis. Mimee, I'll need you to coordinate with the Resistance Leaders on each continent so that the food actually gets to the people and not into the wrong hands. Kei, you'll need to pull navigation charts and routes that won't raise suspicion if a flier is noted. Tochiro, can we modify the String Drives to mimic the alien's signature? Probably won't work in line of sight, unless you can pull another miracle out of your ear, but see what can be done. Harley, you'll need to assign muscle and protection for the missions as we all have to spread out to accomplish this task."

As Harlock reeled off the orders to his crew, they all again marveled at the sight of him doing what he did best - pulling hope out of defeat. He didn't care if anyone even knew what he did, or why he did it, he just had a vision that they all wanted to be a part of. They would all follow this man to Hell if he asked it of them. It didn't hurt that in the huge window behind his back what was at stake stood in clear relief. For behind Harlock, swirling in the vast dark of the night of space, in the window of the cathedral-like atrium, twirled a blue planet with all of its remaining people. It may have been in chains, but with help, it could and would be free again.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo


	3. Chapter 3

**Eulogy for a White Rose - Chapter 3**

_"In baiting a mouse trap with cheese, always leave room for the mouse." H.H. Munro_

Even though the meager remainder of humanity had all come home, they had not brought their ambitions home with them. From an outsider's viewpoint, one who didn't know humanity's true history, would say that they had totally lost all will to live and were but awaiting death on the world that had spawned them. Those who knew humanity better, would know that while they were beaten, huddled and hunkered down, they were awaiting something. As to what that something might be, well, that was unknown to them. In a way, it was a mystery to the huddled masses as well, but await something they did. They scrambled to eat, find shelter that would protect them and their remaining families from the worsening elements, and to find what work they could in that dismal environment.

Their leadership, privileged and grasping, had taken all that they could from their fellows and called it good. They were relatively fat and cared for. Their families were fed and housed in the best style possible - while it was less than what had been before, it was vastly superior to what the majority of humanity endured on a daily basis. They did everything in their power to remain in this fortunate position compared to their fellows.

While schools were shut down, the conquerors had allowed human progeny to be tutored, so long as the history taught was that of the conquerors. No history or heroic past deeds of the Earth were permitted, however, in the deep of the night, some surviving grandparents dared to tell the tales of the Earth of when she was strong, free and a light to others. These tales were told in secret, with people gathered together in small groups, listening avidly to the story tellers.

There were others, those who hadn't been raised on the Earth, who also remembered the strength of the humans and grieved at the loss of their true selves. And these others also were deeply angered at both the invaders and the humans who helped them. None of this was shown, of course, for diplomacy required a different face.

Of course, there were also those who didn't really ascribe to diplomacy, nor were required to maintain a tolerant face. One such was the eldest daughter of Queen Promethium, Emeraldas, the tall, flame haired beauty who had a fiery heart. She didn't brook much dissembling from court diplomats, nor the lies told with smooth faces. She had been exposed at an early age to such things, and knew them for what they were. In fact, both she and her sister had experienced court life at an early age. Neither of them had much of a stomach for it, either. Both had escaped their homeworld to the stars. One aboard the legendary ship, Queen Emeraldas, and the other, Maetal, to the Galaxy Railways aboard the 999. Both fought tyranny in their own ways...

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Emeraldas bent over the scanner on her command desk. She didn't really need to do that, as she could have increased the size of the object with a mere thought, but she rather enjoyed peering closely at it. What she was looking at was an asteroid. It was one of a great many asteroids within the asteroid belt beyond the planet of Mars. Early in Earth space exploration, the asteroid belt had proven to be a gold mine, somewhat literally. It was the remains of an early planet which had collided with the planet Nibiru, which was out on its long elliptical orbit and wouldn't return for another twenty thousand years. Its orbit was perpendicular to the orbits of the other planets around the star known as Sol. This got it into trouble when it came in on its long orbit, usually trashing whatever was in its path. The good part was that while one planet had died, the remains were quite useful. Especially to someone like Harlock.

The asteroids had been mined for all of the resources that the Earth needed to complete the survey of their home system and to boost them to the space community beyond their solar system neighborhood. The empty shells of the bigger asteroids had been auctioned off to the highest bidders. Usually, they had been then crumbled and used for the raw resources they contained, however, Harlock's great-grandparents had had a different idea of what to do with them. Quietly, Admiral Phantom F. Harlock, XCVI and his estimable wife, Frieda, had set about acquiring as many as they could. He had started the refit of 50 of them to be boat docks and space stations. The idea had been to hire them out as way stations on the route to Pluto to meet the Galaxy Railways Division Station. However, this never happened as Queen Promethium had diplomatically gotten permission for stations to be built on Earth in several places not long after the initial asteroid refit work had been done.

The grand ideas had been mothballed for a while, but then a generation later, Commodore Phantom F. Harlock, XCVII had finished the refit of the entire 118 asteroids with the help of a long-time family friend, Captain Otamu Oyama. They had quietly gotten the rest of the asteroids outfitted as battle moons, storage facilities and had used others as supply depots. Both men had been rather romantically enchanted with the idea of movable Battle Moons and had worked out how to do it economically and fully, using their battle pay prizes and family resources combined. They had gotten rather fanciful with several of them, inventing ways to incorporate a "sun", inner ocean and beach. Their wives, Katarina and Keiko, had rolled their eyes at the rather impractical project, but knowing that men were men, they wisely let them be. Both had also been wide-eyed and admiring of the eventual completed projects, to the delight of their proud husbands.

The end result was a fleet of Battle Moons, hidden within Earth's own system that were capable of independent movement, and looked entirely like any other asteroid within reach. The men knew they would be needed someday, but not why or how. It wasn't until the close of the current war that the youngest Harlock scion, Captain of the Arcadia and numbered XCIX of that line, learned of their existence through his grandfather's papers, hidden at the Harlock Hall in Heiligenstadt. Since then, they had come in quite handy for both he and his cronies, like Emeraldas. Tochiro had added his own genius to them and now they were quite astounding and very useful.

The asteroid she was peering at looked entirely similar to all of the other asteroids in the vicinity, except for its size, and its function - for this was one of the 118 battle moons that Harlock controlled. This one was special in that it was also a repair dock for space vessels of a larger size like the Arcadia and the Queen Emeraldas. She sent the Friend tone code after ensuring that there was no other ship nearby to see or witness the odd thing she was about to do. The asteroid rumbled and a hatch appeared in its side across an open crater. The Queen Emeraldas slipped inside of the huge boat bay and came to rest in the ship's cradle shaped to accept the Queen's double bulk. The outer hatch doors resealed and the asteroid again appeared to be a normal, very uninteresting, pitted and scarred large chunk of destroyed planet.

Once she was docked inside, she communicated with the Queen, who told her to have a nice time swimming in the internal ocean, that she needed rest. And she acknowledged that she did indeed need rest for she was heavily pregnant with her first child. She fondly ran a hand over her enlarged belly and thought of the child's father, Tochiro Oyama. Only for him would she do this. No other man had dared to get that close to her without feeling the brunt of her wrath. He had the ability to get past her rather prickly exterior and to expose the inner woman. She smiled. Who would have thought that she would go for Tochiro?

From the moment they met, she had been fascinated by him and his open-hearted sincere truthfulness and desire to live life fully; he had struck a chord in her own shuttered heart. And, in the ensuing three years, she had grown to love him deeply. She blushed, for it was his desire to be with her that had driven him to invent the String Drive that allowed a simple Space Wolf to traverse the star ways dividing the distance between the Arcadia and the Queen Emeraldas faster than what regular warp drive was able to do. He had improved the inner and outer defenses of the Queen while also romancing the Captain of that vessel. She had been both bemused and later impressed by his simple devotion and blatant desire. No one had ever loved her this unconditionally before, but Tochiro did and she had thawed in the face of his real warmth, exuberance, love and desire.

As it was the prerogative of all Ships' Captains since the institution of sailing ships, Harlock had married them a year ago aboard the Arcadia in a rare joyful moment; the ceremony was held in the magnificent Atrium which had been changed from a meeting room to a cathedral of light. A magnificent backdrop of a beautiful quasar had sparkled in the background as the main decoration, a gift from the Arcadia's crew. She had even felt like a princess bride that day, decked out in a long, exquisite bridal dress made by Maya's hands that she had given to Emeraldas while they were imprisoned together before Maya's death.

Maya had not made her the Earthly traditional white gown; Emeraldas' gown was violet and gold in a shade that complemented her flame colored hair and exotic violet eyes. And it was still a mystery to Emeraldas as to how Maya had managed to work the dress in such a short time, not to mention where she had obtained the materials for its construction; they had appeared when she was resting from her wounds. Regardless, Maya had worked gold bullion into the design of the dress; swirled galaxies and the star patterns visible from Emeraldas' homeworld on the skirt and bodice respectively. It was magnificent.

Maya had told her that she was a great beauty and that she would need the dress sooner than later. Somehow, the Resistance movement Maya coordinated had gotten it aboard the Queen Emeraldas before the escape from Earth. The Queen had never told her exactly how it had been done, but she assumed that the ship's AI had helped a good bit. At the time, Emeraldas hadn't thought that she would ever need such a gown, but again, Maya was correct. Odd wasn't it, she mused, Maya was always right.

Emeraldas admitted to herself that she still missed Maya, despite them knowing each other for such a limited time - she had had the feel of another sister, like Maetel, only of a different spirit. There had been a kindred sharing between them. Oddly reminiscent, she disembarked her vessel and went aboard the station within the asteroid.

The ocean was awaiting her. She hurried as quickly as she could, noting with amusement that with her advanced pregnancy that she was waddling quite a bit. Doctor Zero had told her it was from the loosening tendons, pelvic sutures and seams; this was readying her body for the birth of the child. She couldn't help but notice that despite the medical reason behind it, she couldn't deny that she was walking a bit like a rather deadly duck - Gravity Saber, Cosmo Dragoon, daggers and all. Pity the being who underestimated her in her current condition, she thought.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Later, she relaxed in an eddy of a smaller tide pool in a section of the larger "ocean" within the asteroid. The warm "sun" overhead eased all of the aches of her pregnant body as she floated on the surface of the water. Her ankle length flame colored hair swirled all about her in drifting waves like seaweed upon the waters. Her pregnant belly rose above the surface of the water in a mound as if to welcome the sun and its warmth. She thought with amusement that she looked like an island, a small atoll in the midst of red seaweed. She felt her fears of delivery melt away and the terrible things she had both seen and done fade from her mind.

She closed her eyes and started to dream. Her homeworld, Lar Maetal, rose into her mind's eye and she found herself falling headlong into its atmosphere to dash into the warm oceans there in a graceful dive. As she swam there, sad eyes following her, she noticed that there were a multitude of these sad eyes all about her. She understood that they wanted something from her, something only she could give. They beckoned to her and she swam after them. They went into a cave and brought her into a cove where she broke water to the air above. She caught her breath as she flung her hair out of her eyes to behind her head and looked around in astonishment.

All around her, the eyes resolved into people, all of whom reached out to her saying, "Princess, protect us, we are lost without your help." The eyes went from normal eyes to those of mechanical beings. She gasped in fear, clutching her unborn child as she floundered to escape the cave. "No, don't go," they cried out to her; "we have lost our way and you must help us to escape our prisons." She looked at them then, really looked at them. She saw their remorse, their human souls restored and their eyes gone from mechanical to those of flesh and blood again. "Help us", they cried, "lest we all be lost to mindless wandering." She felt not her usual disgust for them, but pity. They now knew the truth of what they had done and were sorry. She reached out a hand to them as if in compassionate blessing, unshed tears in her eyes.

They faded from sight and then she saw the glowing orbs of her own mother's new mechanical eyes bearing down on her, getting closer and closer to her own eyes, mechanical arms reaching out to grasp her... She "awoke" with a start and a gasp, rising up out of the gentle water in one motion, her arms raised as if to ward off the evil thing her beloved mother had become. She then remembered where she was and cupped her face in her hands, weeping for the loss of her people to bodies that no longer could feel and for the loss of her own beloved mother, who had raised both her and her younger sister, Maetel, with love and compassion until her change after becoming a mechanical person. Somewhat obviously, her pregnancy was causing some labile emotions. At least she had the ability to feel, she thought.

When she was cried out, she looked up at the warm sun and vowed to save those she could from such a fate. You couldn't live properly if you couldn't feel. She was determined to keep her child safe from such a future and she would work against such monstrosities until her very last breath. She waded ashore, a flame colored Aphrodite emerging from the ocean's foam and although she was disturbed by her dream, she was also oddly refreshed, and idly wondered what the AI of the Queen Emeraldas did when in station at rest.

The reality of that would have surprised her beyond belief and troubled her. The Queen hadn't told her of its origins or former journeys other than in broad terms. The particulars would have been quite astounding and somewhat alarming as well. Which is why the Queen kept these matters to herself; there was no need to trouble the young woman who was her companion through the void. It would be time, soon enough.

For now, she had brought her mistress and commander to a safe haven to have her child, the child of two worlds and a singular destiny. With that, the Queen sent a burst of communication out into the Deep Void beyond the next four galaxies. It was quick and along a path that none in these galaxies had any concept of, hence there was no ability for the message to be either intercepted or interpreted. Satisfied, the Queen set about doing internal and external maintenance tasks via the ship's robot crew in preparation for the next mission.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harley set his back against the bulk of the food crates in front of him. He was using a lift, but it was still rather heavy. N'Gze, a huge man from what had been Nigeria, assisted him, sweat pouring from his dark and handsome brow. They had been loading the Space Wolves for what seemed like days now. The mission for delivery was to begin in two hours and the last flyer was almost ready.

The thirty Space Wolves and their pilots would brave the cordon around the Earth, using regular alien ship runs under the guise of normalcy in order to gain entrance to the atmosphere. The Space Wolves would be stealthed during the entire run, until they spread out from the landing zones of their parasitic hosts. Then, they would run along the nape of the land, barely above the ground in an effort to evade detection. Where possible, they would mimic runs of usual alien patrol craft so that if a trace was discovered, at least it would look fairly normal to the casual or bored observer.

Once they were out of the main landing areas, they would be able to go to the prearranged drop areas Mimee had designated with the Earth resistance movement. It had not been an easy task, for each Resistance cell was separate from the next one, with little to no contact between them, except for ever changing codes that would mean little to their alien conquerors, but would read true to the Earth people attempting to play "keep away."

It had been a good system, devised early on by Maya and coordinated through her daily broadcasts to Earth's remaining people. In her messages of hope were sprinkled code words for where to find food and safety, if people needed this. It had been risky, but necessary to create this system. There were always those who would sell another person for their own gain, so the codes were needed to keep those who dared to work against the conquerors as safe as was possible. Occasionally, an alien or alien sympathizer would figure it out, but then while that cell might be lost, the rest were comparatively safe.

Once the goods were delivered, the resistance movement would begin the actual distribution to the people of the Earth. This was also risky, since after the conquerors had killed off a great portion of Earth's people, many of the remaining people had gone to the cities in order to find food and shelter as the surrounding areas had been decimated by the alien's rape of the land and its resources. The conquerors were also located in the larger cities, so this would be problematic for safe delivery. Food in the countryside was scarce because the soil was now poor and less likely to support plant and animal growth. That didn't even begin to address the issue of potable water.

Basically, the remaining people of the Earth lived at the sufferance of the aliens and whenever they decided they could be fed and watered. Which hadn't been often. Famine stalked the land, and disease was following. The pale horse of death followed closely behind. Into this, the Arcadia and her crew were going to put into place a major crimp in the Alien's plan to further decimate Earth's people. Harley grinned. He was going to enjoy this mission. He and N'Gze finally loaded the last Space Wolf and signaled the bridge that all was ready.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Nolan crept out of the Arcadia with his heavily loaded and stealthed Space Wolf that he called "Betty Grable". They were on radio silence until they reached their distribution point and only then to squawk a IFF to the resistance cell for reception. The fully stealthed and silent running Arcadia was dropping them all off on points around the world where the alien air patrols were running. That was one good thing about regular military discipline, he thought, no matter who was running it, it was entirely predictable. After all, there was only so much sky and so many routes to cover.

He fell into the space lane where a patrol flyer would come in 0.4 seconds, and then he was off, smoothly gliding into the underbelly of the alien craft. By matching his speed and altitude and flying directly one foot under and minimally behind the other flyer, he was able to avoid detection. But also, at one foot under the other flyer, he was also in danger of colliding with the other craft. One zig when he should have zagged...

He put into play another one of Tochiro's new toys, a Grafting Co-pilot Slaving System (GCSS). With this, he was able to access the alien's craft flight controls not as an active device, for that would send alarm bells off in the alien craft, but as a leech - a slave controller. When the other craft would make a flight adjustment, so would he, in a seamless whole with no one the wiser. It was as if the alien he was under controlled the flight of his flyer, which in a way, it did; part of the program controlling the GCSS was the ability to make the alien craft think that it had a slightly deeper keel and slightly longer beam and communicate to "all" of its ship without changing any of the original parameters so that a post-flight check would not notice any abnormalities.

He smiled; beautiful, beautiful - just like a cuckoo bird depositing its chick in another birds nest! He monitored the flight and the input from the aliens to make certain they weren't going to run him into the ground in some oddball maneuver. As he fell into the Earth he admired the view and then noted that there was much wrong with it - the usual blue and green was turning to muddy brown. He snarled.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The Commander had been ordered to appear before the High Command. To say that he was nervous was a vast understatement. Since his species did not sweat, he did not do this. However, his people had a telltale sign when under stress, or when in battle; their skin became a more brilliant shade of green. Nor, could he control it, much to his chagrin. It wasn't his fault that the shipment of payment foods and goods had disappeared off of the galactic map. Nor was it his fault that the base on Lapetus had been destroyed. He was however, the unfortunate messenger and everyone knew what happened to those who bore bad news. He straightened his uniform in an attempt to set to rights his appearance, if not the current situation. He drew in a deep breath and then entered the command center to report.

Supreme Commander Salsonen was looking out of the window behind his desk, not even facing the door. The Commander strode up to the desk, stopped and saluted his superior officer's back. "Commander Zelos reporting in, Sir." He stopped and maintained his attention posture then waited for two milps for the Supreme Commander to acknowledge his presence. He finally did, turning from the view in his window to the unlucky officer in front of his desk. He came forward to sit in his chair at the desk, but did not offer a chair to Zelos. Another bad sign. He maintained his posture while Salsonen looked at him for several more milps without an expression on his face. Three bad signs, Zelos thought, but he did not let any of this show outwardly other than the probable heightening of the shade of green he wore.

"Commander", Salsonen said without preamble, "what do you suppose Harlock is going to do with what he stole?" Zelos stammered in surprise, "Sir?" The Supreme Commander sighed. "I know that you had nothing to do with the theft of those supplies and bribes, Commander, yet you did not correct me when I reamed you out for their disappearance. Do you know why I know this?"

Zelos was now intrigued. Maybe he would keep his head after all. "No, Sir," he replied, "I don't know why you know this. There were no traces of who or what hit the base. Harlock is the first suspect, of course, but there are others as well. Emeraldas, for instance, or the Lar Maetal masters of the Galaxy Railways." He paused, "It could even have been me, sir, trying to fatten my own accounts."

Salsonen smiled a thin smile. "Yes, all you have postulated could be possible suspects, but Harlock is the one most likely, his love for Earth and her people are well known." He massaged his temples, wearily. "Think of it this way, Harlock knows that the Earth is failing and that death is likely for her people sooner than later. He may even suspect that in the end we will destroy the Earth itself, since he was there when we destroyed Tokarga. He will do what he must in order to hold that end at bay. To date, he has been happy to harass our supply lines and do quick in and out missions. The one at Lapetus base was different." He looked up at Zelos. "Can you tell me how it was different, Commander?"

Zelos had a moment of Déjà Vu, in which he was a midshipman at the Naval College answering his instructors. And he trying, often without much success, to give them the answers they wanted. The mission Harlock ran at Lapetus WAS different from the earlier ones. He had gotten in and out without being seen. He had decimated the base and left no witnesses, nor any data. He had stolen an entire hydroponics dome full of native Earth flora destined for the Imperial Garden; prime specimens, all. He had stolen an entire Star Farm growth cycle product without any alarms being raised. It was as if he had suddenly turned into an illusionist.

Then he understood. The attack had been totally unknown, undetected and the destruction complete before help was called for. Harlock had brought new firepower strength in from somewhere, somehow and it was more potent than it had been. And while tactically it still was guerilla warfare, it had been extremely effective, far beyond what the pirate had been able to mount offensively before.

Worse yet, he had started off that cycle with a vid and voice broadcast from the (fortunately now dead) White Rose, whose broadcasts were thankfully silent these past three yeun, but with Harlock starting that cycle again... And despite the command trying to apprehend him when the broadcast started, he had slipped away unseen and undetected. "The balance of power has changed," he whispered. He looked at his commander in dread. Salsonen nodded.

The two of them looked at each other and tried their best to not to be afraid of what that would mean for their status and future after the conquest was complete. "It is a new game with Harlock," Salsonen said gravely. "He is still interested in revenge against us for Maya's death. The new game is one in which we don't know the extent of what he is now capable of doing. One in which the rules of engagement have changed. One in which he believes victory against us is possible. Or he would not have tested himself against the base's heavy but remote and isolated defenses."

Salsonen got up and went back to staring out of the window. "I have a gut feeling that he is out there, right now, putting another plan into effect that will unravel a lot of progress that we have made. And you and I, Commander, must counter something that we don't know, fighting an angry, intractable, and incorruptible man on his own world, on HIS terms, not our own."

He turned to look at Zelos again and said emphatically," We must counter him swiftly and effectively, before he gets momentum on his side. The people of Earth are cowed and currently weak; we killed most of the stronger ones off and the remainder are lesser beings. That could change if he rallies them."

Zelos swallowed as Salsonen opened his drawer and brought out an Imperial Document bearing seals of commission. "We have final destruction orders for this world." Zelos opened and then closed his mouth in surprise, for the Empire always enslaved the remnants of conquered worlds and allowed them to die off naturally in servile captivity on the far-flung worlds of the Empire separated from one another.

"High Command believes that if the Humans are permitted to continue to live that they will always prove to be a threat to the security to the Empire, and so," Salsonen continued, "we have orders to speed up the mineral extractions and finish up here in one yeun at most. When we leave this world, all humans must die with it," he stated flatly. "Now, you and I must come up with a plan to neutralize this so-called pirate and his cronies, for if we do not do this, that deadline is not possible at all. With that in mind, what do you think Harlock will be doing next?"

Salsonen finally invited Zelos to sit in the chair in front of his desk with a wave of his hand. "Well, Sir," Zelos said hesitantly as he gratefully sat in the chair, "he's going to want to do something with all of that food. He and his crew can't possibly eat all of it in the next thirty yeun, so he's going to try to feed the people of Earth under our very noses." Salsonen pointed a finger at him and said," Now you're thinking. That's exactly what he's going to do and THAT, my dear Commander, is how we are going to neutralize him!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

On a distant planet, several galaxies away, a train whistle blew, calling its passengers back to its linked passenger and dining cars as it chugged off of the launch platform toward the stars belching "steam" from its "stack." On the platform next to where the 999 lifted to space, a tall, willowy, blond-haired woman wearing a black fur coat with matching black fur hat with furred pom pom ties, and carrying a briefcase whose contents no one was allowed to see, watched the train puff "steam" and lift to the skies from the long raised launch rails. Standing on the back deck of the caboose was the odd little conductor, sporting a blue uniform with large gold buttons and matching hat, but no visible being or face other than glowing eyes, looking back at her and saluting. Next to him stood a woman who appeared to be made of crystalline glass waving at her. Both seemed sad. The blonde woman watched them until they were beyond her sight.

She turned and swiftly left the platform and made her way to the other side of the spaceport. She dodged around the formal search and seizure personnel and went into a little used and rather dilapidated portion of the base. Checking to see that no one was watching, she touched a rivet in one panel. It swung open and she quickly stepped inside, sealing the hidden hatch behind her. Once there, lighting came on automatically. "Welcome, Princess Maetel," said a disembodied metallic voice. "What service can we do for you?"

"Prepare for launch," she stated calmly. "We need to travel to Sol to see our sister." The disembodied voice sounded concerned as it protested, "But the world there is under the thumb of its conquerors and that area is not safe for humanoid persons." She smiled slightly. "Yes, I know. Emeraldas needs me to come there and no, I will not be changing bodies for this journey. Nor will we stop on Pluto," she stated firmly.

She strode forward to a medium sized yacht. It was of the old style, from a millennium before, but its AI was trustworthy and had not been corrupted by the current mechanization on her homeworld of Lar Maetal. It had been lonely since the death of their Aunt, the Princess Serena, but this AI, since it had belonged to her Aunt Serena, was loyal and secure. The entry ramp extended from the yacht's belly and she walked aboard.

Moments later, the yacht blasted out of the spaceport toward the Black. The tower coordinators were confused by its direction and heading, for it did not go the usual track to Andromeda. Instead, it turned and blinked out in the direction of a nearby barred spiral galaxy. They recovered and then noticed that the owner of the yacht hadn't filed formal flight plans despite the NavComp telling them that it had. As they scratched their thinking protuberances in puzzlement, they decided to ignore the irregularity - probably the computer had burped and lost the information. It was known to happen once in a while. More paperwork; curious terminology, when they would complete a computerized variance report that was totally paperless.

The being in charge burbled its equivalent of a sigh, resigned to its administrative dull duty when another ship also blasted out of space dock without tower notification and left on the same trajectory of the first ship, obviously in pusuit. The being had a sudden urge to bang its thinking protuberance on the control board. One anomaly was able to be mostly ignored with the proper paperwork filed. Two however, was not happenstance, but deliberate and possibly dangerous. The being punched a button on its panel with a pseudopod appendage to notify its superior. This double breach of protocol occurrence came under the heading of NOT GOOD and did not bode well for a timely return home at the end of its usual shift.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the alien headquarters, a group of the higher commanders were seated at a table in a closed session, arguing over their next steps against one whom they considered to be an outlaw irritant and not a serious threat. Some advocated a higher reward for his death or capture, others immediate punitive action against innocent humans to flush him out; still others advocated setting their slave races on the job of his elimination for huge benefit.

Few truly understood the stakes and they were set on a course that would either deliver the pirate to them or damn them all. They eventually got their brothers to agree with the action deemed best. Then, they dispersed to set into motion a plan to catch a pirate and teach the remaining Earth people that there was no hope in objecting to their rule. The stakes were high for them - either put into place the demands of the Imperium, or die trying.

An enslaved recorder left the meeting clutching a data pad in shaking hands, and wore troubled, shadowed eyes. It had seen the results of such meetings before, always foretelling the destruction of an entire people. It's own people had been destroyed only ten yeun before and it was as far as it knew, among the few remaining persons of its race. I'm helpless to do any real damage, it thought resignedly, and left to do it's master's bidding.

As the aliens met to discuss and agree on a plan, a shadowy figure dressed in a dark cloak with the hood pulled up against the cold and wind, skulked in a shattered doorway in what remained of Tokyo. It raised a wrist com to its mouth and quietly spoke within it. "What do we plant?" It received it's response and then the figure left the doorway before an alien patrol went by.

A similar figure did the same in the shadow of the Chrysler building in ruined Chicago under a still standing El. Another in Paris while walking along the Champs de Elyse, and in London beneath the dreaded Tower of London. In Berlin, the exchange happened at ancient Checkpoint Charlie, while in Moscow, in the middle of the Red Square behind a pile of old statuary of former days. In Australia, Sydney was the city of choice at a dock on the bay. Other regional places all over the world had similar figures communicate the word and then they all vanished into the night with no one the wiser. Whom they communicated with was not obvious, nor if they were human or alien. The reply was the same in all circumstances, "White Roses."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In Heiligenstadt, Franconia, a part of what was left of Germany, folk went quietly to the abandoned and outwardly destroyed castle Kirke in small numbers. There, they met with a thin, tall and white haired old man, still wearing the tattered remains of an outlawed robe of a Catholic priest. Meeting in the hidden crypt deep below the ancient sanctuary floor, they sat and knelt among the old marble and stone sarcophagi, each one doing another outlawed thing, praying.

If one looked around the torch lit crypt, one would see that each of the tombs bore but one name, in newer styled letters toward the curved stone stairway in the front, then toward the back of the deep chamber, dating back to very, very ancient writing styles.

The earlier sarcophagi bore carved figures of reclined, mantled knights in full armor, hands folded over their hearts as if in prayer, a long, cross hilted sword placed with the hilt on the breast bone with the sword's shaft beneath the clasped hands of the effigy and pointed down to the booted feet. The newer sarcophagi bore more modernly dressed men, and while the style of the sword they bore changed over the centuries, they were also arranged in the same fashion as the earlier knights.

The faces of the carved knights were, in unity, scarred with a long slash across the bridge of the nose down to the cheek across the left side of the face. All bore the death's-head sigil somewhere on their effigy. There were rows and rows of these sarcophagi, numbering in the high hundreds. The underground chamber was huge and you could not see the back of it from the front of the chamber. There was one unoccupied slot in the very front, it bore a name and a birth date, but not a date of demise.

The people would trace or touch the name of the occupants while they prayed for mortal deliverance through divine intervention; the torches flickered and eventually guttered. The people left some time later the same way they came, quietly, singly in small groups and going in different directions. The elderly priest with his wispy white hair melted away in the night and no one could say where he had gone. The moonlight lit the chapel walls and floors, giving an otherworldly glow to the ancient site.

Sometime later, a patrol of aliens checked the old castle area to ensure no post-curfew stragglers lurked in the night. Seeing the moonlight illuminating the destroyed Kirke, they shuddered and as one, turned away to avoid the strange building. It was a place that gave all of them the willies and they could not say why.

If they had known whose family owned estate and castle, they would have blasted it into rubble, leaving no stone atop another. The still standing stones kept their own counsel in the moonlit night, guarding the secrets contained within. The night that surrounded it seemed expectant; hopeful amidst the destruction all about. A chill wind blew leaves from a few paltry trees to swirl against the stones and cover the entrance to the partially destroyed Kirke. It was as if no one had ever been there.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo


	4. Chapter 4

Eulogy for a White Rose - Chapter 4

_"The clever cat eats cheese and breathes down rat holes with baited breath.__"  
__W. C. Fields_

Harlock looked over at Tochiro before he mounted the air-stairs to his Space Wolf. His helmet was not yet locked on, but his flight suit was zipped over his basic uniform. He had stowed his Gravity Saber and Cosmo Dragoon in the weapons locker aboard the fighter. He checked the rest of his on board equipment via his mental and CompPad checklist and then coded them into the NavComp; no point in being sloppy when the result could be fatal. Tochiro was almost dancing below and trying to get Harlock to listen to him.

"You can't engage the Atmospheric String Threading Device," Tochiro said passionately. "We don't have it fully tested and I don't know what would happen. I need to test it better before we put it into use. That's why I have everyone using the GCSS, instead. So, don't get any bright ideas or put yourself in harm's way. Rescuing you will be difficult if you get into trouble this time. Be careful, stick with the plan, and don't take any chances." Tochiro stopped talking and peered up at his tall friend through his round spectacles.

Harlock sighed. Now Tochiro was mothering him! He turned his helmet over to inspect the coupling seam. Since he had gotten back from his little excursion to honor Maya, everyone had been rather protective of him; coddling him and almost making his teeth grind with their kindnesses.

Even Mimee was more concerned for him of late, offering to play her harp to the counterpoint of his ocarina every morning, noon and evening, not to mention glowing all the while; Heaven alone knew what she was reading in him just now. Yattaran had given him a beautifully done model of the Death Shadow. Kei had looked at him with sad eyes and had not tried to take his wine bottles away from him or yell at him for drinking too much.

Harlock had tested them (and the rest of the crew) by downing the better part of a wonderful Red Beineer Brandy from Azolurulae, a gift that Emeraldas had given him for his last birthday, before he had passed out sitting at his desk in his quarters. He had awoken the next day around noon, drooling on his desk blotter with a rotten headache, blurred vision, and had had a rather bad taste in his mouth that brushing his teeth, tongue and gums had done nothing to fix.

He hadn't gotten so much as a peep out of Tochiro, Kei, nor even Doc Zero, who normally muttered about liver problems and the uncomfortable procedures he was going to perform on Harlock in order to reverse said problems. Harlock grinned; knowing the grin was hidden under his hair, no one had remonstrated with him for his little "lapse." Not to mention the free pass he had gotten for his rotten attitude that had gone with the headache... Sometimes he wondered if he drank more than he should in order to quiet his demons, so to speak, or to get a reaction from those around him. Perhaps both, he admitted to himself.

He engaged the communication link between his helmet and the suit, and then checked it's connection to the ship and the Space Wolf. It all seemed to be okay as Kei responded to him immediately with a worried note in her voice.

No one wanted him to do this mission. They wanted someone else to do it, perhaps Nolan, Harley, or even Daiba. The only problem was, he was the best man for this mission. He was, quite simply, the best bait available. It was risky, yes. But someone had to divert the attention of the Illumidas and their Earth lapdogs away from the Resistance and the delivery of the food for the people of Earth. So, that meant that by dangling himself in front of their collective noses - he was going to be the best diversion possible. He was bait; very tasty bait...

He looked down at Tochiro from the air-steps. "Toch, I will be as careful as any other piece of cheese is able to be with a mouse in the room. In fact, I will be as careful as I can be with the flotilla of mice that will be dancing around me." His eye(s) twinkled. "I have full confidence in the GCSS that you have developed and I don't plan on needing any other tricks to pull this off." He paused for a moment and cocked his head to the side. "Except for my sterling piloting skills, of course." He smiled cockily. "I wonder how good their vessels are in atmosphere. I never got to test that before we were unceremoniously tossed out." He went back to his pre-flight check, watching Tochiro's reaction from the corner of his eye(s).

Tochiro fidgeted below. He wished Harlock would let him come with him on this trip so he could keep him in line, but Harlock had told him that he needed him aboard the Arcadia, ready to come to the assistance of any of the Space Wolf pilots in case the GCSS wasn't effective for some reason. Tochiro had invented it and only he completely knew how it worked as Maji was still working on the kinks for the Arcadia's Farm and Forest. Which was progressing nicely, he thought to himself as a side note.

Still, Harlock was the glue that held them all together. His was the vision and the drive. Without Harlock, the fight would seem futile. So, that brought him to the next thing he was going to do... He brought up the spray syringe that Doc Zero had loaned him for the occasion out from under his brown cloak and jammed the business end of it into Harlock's posterior, while the owner of said posterior's attention was otherwise engaged. Harlock jumped most satisfactorily.

"TOCHIRO, WHAT THE... ?" Harlock roared, as the helmet dropped from his hands and hit the flight deck below. He turned towards his friend with a furious look on his face. "What have you done?" He glared at Tochiro while rubbing his offended anatomy, then more calmly asked; "What was that?"

Tochiro calmly put the syringe back under his cloak. He looked up at his friend and smiled. "I've just chipped you," He said serenely. At Harlock's stare, he continued, "If we lose contact with you for some reason, I can find you with that; it's sort of like a pet identity chip, only better."

Harlock snorted - great - now he was a pirate "dog" who needed an identity chip. The humor of it wasn't entirely lost on him. "Well, if YOU can find me with it, don't you think that THEY can find me with it?" Tochiro slowly shook his head in the negative; "This also uses the String drive technology and you would need the proprietary device I made to even begin to look for it."

Harlock wasn't even going to ask how it worked just now. "Why didn't you tell me about this and get my agreement beforehand?" Harlock asked in a peeved tone.

"Because you would have found fourteen reasons not to have this done," Tochiro smoothly replied, "We know how you are about going to sickbay for yourself."

He smiled as Harlock turned to inspect his backside and then said, "You mentioned the String Drive technology - What does it do? Drag my sorry butt back here without the benefit of asking me if it's okay to do so? I do rather prefer to make my own decisions, you know."

Tochiro nodded affirmatively, "Yes, I know - but what if you get into something that even you can't get out of? This way, you can call for help and then we can slip you through the Spheres along the Strings to home." He smiled, "I'll try not to be trigger happy and push the button prematurely."

Harlock swallowed. He hoped he was wearing his EVA suit at the time... He was comfortable doing this sort of thing while "wearing" his Space Wolf, so to speak, but to travel the strands of time and space without protection? Aieee, he wasn't certain if he was quite comfortable with THAT concept! "Well, don't pull me back unless you have a really, really good idea that I can't get out of trouble on my own, okay?" Tochiro nodded and then handed Harlock's helmet back to him.

Still rattled, Harlock took the helmet back and seated it over his head, sealing it's coupling to his EVA flight suit. He mounted the remaining steps to the Space Wolf and strapped himself in, finished preflight checks, closed the canopy, and then saluted Tochiro and the flight deck mechanic, Hendrik, with his right hand raised in his usual two fingered salute to his right brow. He taxied out of the flight deck bay, into a launch tube and then melted into the inky void towards Earth.

Tochiro wandered towards the main computer deck with his lips pursed in thought. There were so many ways this whole operation could go bad, he thought. Hendrick went back to his normal duties as Harlock's Space Wolf had been the last one to depart.

Neither of them noted the small data chip that had come loose from Harlock's helmet, after he had dropped the helmet to the flight deck, while Tochiro had injected the Captain with the String Retrieval Chip. Now, this other small data chip glinted dully in the dimmed lighting of the flight deck, forlorn and forgotten.

Sometime later, a cleaning robot scooted out of its storage closet and cleaned up the flight deck bay on its scheduled work time. The chip was swallowed up inside the robot and sorted into a compartment for later retrieval as it separated trash from possibly important items. The CleanBot did not have a smart enough brain to let someone know that it had swallowed up a rather important data chip, so it did as it was programmed to do - it sat in its closet and powered down, waiting for someone to check its prizes.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Prime Minister Triter sat in his office and chewed on his non-existent fingernails. They had gotten chewed down when Harlock had broadcast The White Rose's message two weeks earlier. He moaned and then held his head in his hands. Why, oh, why couldn't that damned pirate leave them alone? HE was ruining the entire peace process. Triter had been working very hard to broker a peace with the Illumidas. He was sure he was close. All they had to do was to do whatever the Illumidas wanted and then they would reciprocate with trust and cooperation, he was certain! But no, Harlock and the rest of the Resistance were bent on NOT conforming; it was maddening!

There had to be something, something he could use to stop Harlock. Something that would stop him in his tracks. Something that would prove to Supreme Commander Salsonen that he was sincere, that Earth was sincere in its desire to cooperate with their conquerors. .. Then they could all build a lasting peace and a better future for all concerned. Compromise was the best thing for all, he thought.

It never occurred to him that while he could be very sincere in believing he was brokering a lasting peace, the Illumidas could be simply playing for time and had no intention of any sort of peace - only destruction. He had only considered his own thoughts and had never truly looked at the intentions or the history of the Illumidas and their pattern of conquering other races. In his pride that he was the best person to win the peace, he ignored the obvious evidence that to the Illumidas, the only good human would be a dead one, as they had done to so many races before humanity.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As Triter sat, head in hands, Salsonen grimaced as he viewed the human "leader" on his hidden camera in his own office and his lip curled in contempt. Harlock may be an outlaw, he thought, but he was a brave warrior and held to his convictions, even unto death - something another warrior could respect.

Salsonen wasn't convinced that this creature on his screen even HAD convictions. It seemed to wobble in whatever direction it was led. In fact, he had tested this theory when he had first come from Headquarters. He had at first posed one possible "treaty" and then changed his mind the next week. The Prime Minister had agreed to both. Bah. Weak. There was little here for his own entertainment, so since then he had presented one treaty after another, each one more restrictive and degrading than the last for the humans. There had been little quibbling with the terms by the Prime Minister of Earth and Salsonen wondered if the politician even realized how bad it had gotten, would continue to be, or eventually become for his fellow Terrans.

Of course, it mattered little in the end - Earth and all her people were slated to be destroyed, just like Tokarga. He snorted. He'd go along and play this little game with the rodent in the other room until it was time to deal with him. Meanwhile, he'd pretend to be civil and to be actually interested in a "lasting peace" between Illumida and Earth, at least to the Prime Minister and the slavishly adulating media that fawned over him. HE couldn't believe that the people of Earth had actually voted FOR this man!

It was actually amusing that they believed he was serious! Couldn't they see the Illumidas actions of the past and predict what they would do in the future? Peace at any price; it was a gun held to your head while you deliberately wore a blindfold ... Idiots! He shook his head. They deserved what was coming their way!

He turned his attention to his Comp. He wanted to find something to use against Harlock that would give him the upper hand beyond the plan already in place. Perhaps something psychological would work - Harlock was obviously strong in arms, weapons, and this new technology. He was also sneaky and creative, good with both logistics and tactics. His weaknesses included limited resources, not being valued by his fellow Terrans (or at least the ones who mattered), small numbers of troops and only one Capital Ship; two if you counted the Queen Emeraldas. He idly thumbed through the Comp records the Earth Force military had on Harlock and noted something. He straightened in his chair and began to smile. Got You! He thought jubilantly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the corridor outside of Supreme Commander Salsonen's office, a slight form skulked in the shadows. It's fingers shook with fear as it completed its task. It was the recorder from the meeting from the previous week and it was doing something that it would never, ever have even contemplated before. It was rerouting the computer core links for the Commander's computer. It was hoping that this way, somehow, information would be lost, misplaced, or just not communicated properly at some important time.

It routed command functions into a Chinese Laundry half a continent away - one that did NOT speak Galactic. It routed information requests and data into the weather satellites, bouncing them to a Soap Opera Writer's convention - the one media type still permitted by the Illumidas since it was pabulum for the masses. Then, for good measure, it took the logic threads of the Comp and had it consider immortality while attempting to gauge area traffic control with a subroutine to count the grains of sand upon the Earth.

There, that ought to be enough of a mess. For good measure, he had the comp reach out to the other commanders' Comps in the Illumidas fleet and gave them a particularly nasty little subroutine virus he had cooked up over the last week. It would lie dormant until someone tripped it by trying to get to the hidden information regarding Harlock and the Earth Resistance. It had made the decision to hide the information after the last conference, but had been afraid to do so until this day.

It hesitated as it saw what the Commander was currently viewing, It developed a quick subroutine to bury the information as soon as the Commander linked into another document. There! It was done. It had seen what the Commander was looking at and had shuddered as he recognized its importance. He quickly went and destroyed all corollary links to the information and indeed, buried the data so far into the system that it would take a genius like himself in order to ferret it out. He quickly coded it to an improbably difficult recovery routine, surrounded by deceptively smart firewalls.

He might not be able to fight the Illumidas on his own, nor could he reverse what had been done to his people. But he could give the perfect illusion of total cooperation and docility, while throwing whatever untraceable monkey wrenches he could find into their paths. He wondered why he hadn't done this yuen ago. He silently skulked back to his station to his boring servile work that had been assigned to him. He felt good about today's activities. He was only one being who had never thought to rebel against his masters, after all, one being couldn't possibly make a difference in any important outcomes.

Yet today, he had done just that. He frowned as he thought of the data he had obscured. It had been a list of those who Harlock held dear and where he had been born, raised, befriended while in school, during the Naval Academy and while serving the Solar Federation Navy; in short, Harlock's full jacket fitness reports, IQ and psychological profile, physical data and medical reports, not to mention his lengthy list of decorations and awards for his service to the Earth Navy. Things that in the wrong hands, could jeopardize the Pirate Captain's effectiveness.

He had no idea if any of those beings listed as dear to Harlock were still alive, but there was no need to hand the Illumidas Commander a Pli-otn'bni for disemboweling the Captain of the Arcadia. He had been impressed with the young Captain after scanning his record two weeks ago when Salsonen had ordered him to obtain it from Triter, and he knew that Harlock was the last hope for this planet, whether Earth and her politicians liked it or not.

E'Verdit p'E'vfght, of long dead H'Rtuck'yp'tr, hoped that the Commander didn't have a photographic memory. After ten yuen of slave service, today he had proved to be finally worthy of his lofty name from his dead home world, dead these ten yuen. He smiled, his sawed off fangs showing their blunted ends, then went back to his usual blank expression.

Only his active prehensile tail would give away his excitement to someone who knew what it meant and Salsonen was as arrogant as all Illumida were - which meant he had never taken the time or cared to know what his underling was really thinking, or really like... ah, pride, a vine to trip the unwary! He rearranged his features into a servile, cringing mask with drooping whiskers.

In his mind, he wondered what Captain Harlock would make of the gift he had given him. Even more amusing would be the reaction of Salsonen and his command crew when the "presents" unwrapped themselves in their computer systems. He could hardly wait.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Triter was searching in the Naval Jacket for Harlock that he had gotten from the former Earth Force Fleet Admiral - under great duress - for anything to use against Harlock. How he wished he had kept track of what that dangerous loose cannon was doing while he had been a Captain in the Solar Federation Navy! He hated everything that the pirate stood for; freedom was an illusion - for people needed to be kept out of trouble while someone more knowledgeable and more educated took care of their needs and told them what to do and what to think; they were incapable of useful thoughts.

His plan for peace would see to it that the remaining people of Earth would be cared for under his benevolent and wise care, peaceful, and controlled. The state would be father and mother to the people and he would bring about a Utopian paradise. He only told the people what he thought they needed to know and he was a consummate manipulator and orator to the masses, seemingly sensible, temperate and wise. The media bought his entire routine hook, line, and sinker. If only Harlock had been as easy to manipulate and bring down. He considered what he remembered of Harlock.

He knew that Harlock had married the woman Maya Annalise Schleutenheim, better known as the White Rose of Radio Free Arcadia, now dead these last three years. Unfortunate, that. He had positioned her and Emeraldas so that he could use them - especially Maya - against Harlock as a bargaining chip, but the stupid Illumidas had killed her before she could be used properly to control Harlock. Ah, well, no sense crying over spilled milk. He pressed his fingers against his forehead. There had to be something. Something he had forgotten. Something perhaps someone else knew that would help...

He raised his head from his hands. Ah, Mr. Zone. The proponent of the crewless and automatic battleship plans that had been scrapped . He had had no use for Harlock. And didn't Harlock talk the Fleet Admirals out of putting Mr. Zone's plans into effect? Yes, he had - some drivel about how men were better than machines and men could think outside of the box while machines could only do as they were programmed to do. He remembered it now. It had been at the miserable miscreant's last medal award ceremony he'd been forced to attend and then watch as yet one more stupid medal was pinned on Harlock's scrawny body.

He idly wondered what Harlock had done with all of the "Lettuce" High Command had pinned on his skinny chest and collar tabs. Harlock had been the most decorated officer in active combat throughout the war with the Illumidas. High Command would fix up his ship, the Death Shadow, send him back out to kill more of the Illumidas, and then do it all over again when Harlock needed repairs and supplies.

In all of that, he had amassed enough awards and medals to topple him over by their sheer weight. He grinned at the imaginary thought; Harlock bowed over to his knees with the combined weight of his medals hanging off of his SolFed uniform. Bah, the military and their awards - throw backs to barbaric warrior mentalities. Little medals for little minds, he sneered to himself.

Regardless, he had proven to be the most effective commander and hence, it had been hard to put a stop to Harlock's interference in the peace process that Triter had planned. He had finally managed though...

He smiled as he remembered his Executive Order that the High Command had had to implement - under duress - but he had quoted war time necessity to them. All battle plans had to pass through his office before execution. This way, he could see how the military planned to counter the Illumidas and thus ruin HIS plans.

It had been an easy thing to pass the information on to the Illumidas in order to stop Harlock's effectiveness, all in the name of negotiating peace, of course. ..

That, and send ten refugee ships stuffed to the gills with refugee humans from the colonies for Harlock to protect , instead of the hundred warships Harlock had requested to assist with his daring plan, which had actually stood a good chance of destroying the entire Illumidas fleet from the analysis he had seen! He couldn't have that! A military victory that would have done terrible things to the negotiated peace process that he, Triter, should be the one to bring about, not some jumped-up fighter pilot with delusions of grandeur!

Triter had correctly reasoned that even Harlock could not destroy the Illumidas fleet by himself, and especially not without the sacrifice of that many Terran refugees in his immediate vicinity. The addition of the ten refugee ships had been a stroke of genius on his part, he thought. And it had guaranteed Harlock's defeat, because there was no way that Harlock would keep fighting if the civilians were being killed. The collateral damage would have been too high in Harlock's estimation.

Triter giggled. That was the problem with people like Harlock, he thought. They actually think that one person is important and should be valued. Harlock had sacrificed his own freedom and the rest of the war in order to save most of the refugees. Of course, the Illumidas had had no trouble blowing refugee ships out of space in order to make Harlock surrender. He wondered how sour that taste in Harlock's mouth had been!

The Earth Admiralty had had no idea of what Triter had done and certainly not the common people of Earth. The "sheeple" had been shocked when their favorite hero had failed at long last. It was the only time the pirate had suffered such a resounding defeat, despite taking out half of the Illumidas fleet in the process. He shuddered. Dangerous man!

Triter did not have any regrets about the civilians who had been sacrificed in that action, for it had brought about the defeat of the last Captain fighting effectively against the Illumidas. He had brought down the mighty Death Shadow and her intrepid Captain.

He looked around. He hoped Harlock never found out about the fact that he, Triter, the Prime Minister of Earth, had effectively caused the defeat of his own military. But the fools would see his actions vindicated, for HE would broker a lasting peace. He alone would be the one to cause the Illumidas to work with him. Together, he and the Illumidas would rule the galaxy in a peaceful division of space. First, however, he had a pirate to catch.

He thumbed his communicator. "Get me Mr. Zone."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harlock reached the atmosphere of his home world. He ached inside his heart for what had become of her and her people. He set his jaw, thumbed the switch and a tight beam message went out to the Space Wolf pilots, and to the Resistance Leaders awaiting on Earth.

"Seeds."

He then led the Space Wolf into Earth atmosphere on the first leg of his mission. He grinned. He had never liked the traitorous Prime Minister, Triter, and it was time to beard this particular lion in his den. It would be a tricky visit as Triter was housed in the Illumidas Main Headquarters; unless they were trotting him out to pacify the rest of humanity on one of his infrequent "chats" with the populace.

Well, he liked challenges, didn't he? And how else could he bait the trap properly and occupy their collective time? It was time to become cheese...

He remained stealthed for this portion of his trip. He needed to get to Triter to set the whole hunt into motion. He grinned evilly and wondered what Triter would do when he saw him this time. It would be SO satisfying to have Triter wet his pants!

Harlock knew that Triter was a traitor in the fullest sense of the word. He didn't have the full proof of it, but enough to have been able to put two and two together and finger the smoking gun. The Resistance had been piecing together the information between them and some remaining loyal Earth Force Military. The records that had not been obscured and destroyed had been downloaded into a data crystal he had picked up on Gun Frontier several months ago in a trade. He was going to put a few things into play this day, for Triter needed to be called to account, and Harlock was going to set that particular fate into motion. Today. Triter had caused more than enough damage.

He got to the Illumidas main headquarters and noted with interest that the massive destruction the Arcadia had done to the landing field during her departure three years ago had not yet been repaired. That was interesting, for that meant that the Illlumidas were unable or unwilling to expend anything in order to repair it. Why not repair it? He mulled that thought over in his mind as he guided his Space Wolf into the hole in the landing field. This would save him about three hours of work skulking in hallways and corridors that might not have been entirely safe, regardless of what information the Resistance had given him. Of course, he wasn't home free yet! There would likely be surprises along the way...

Harlock landed the Space Wolf, removed his helmet and flight suit, unlocked his weapons locker and retrieved his Cosmo Dragoon and Gravity Saber, putting them into his weapons belt. He had landed within thirty feet of the access hatch for the command tower maintenance shaft on a relatively stable piece of jutting metal corridor that remained. This end was obviously deserted as it was not an entirely safe area. He carefully got out of the Space Wolf, locked it on his code and it went back into stealth mode. "Remember where you parked," he muttered to himself, looking around for landmarks.

Then, he carefully crossed the distance to the access hatch, pulled out the coded lock pick Tochiro had designed for him, and had it hack its way into the maintenance system. It disabled the security systems with a similar program that the GCSS employed. He sent a quick mental thank you to Tochiro as the hatch popped open without setting off any alarms.

He pulled out of his weapons belt a grappling hook powered by the same energy source as his Gravity Saber, also designed by Tochiro. Harlock took out his Cosmo Dragoon, fiddled with its settings a bit, and then fitted the GrapHook into the aperture of the gun, aimed, fired and heard it ping into place far above him in the maintenance tube. He keyed it to retract and then let it pull him up the shaft to the level he needed. The lock pick then closed the hatch behind him, leaving him to ascend in comparatively silent darkness.

When he had gotten to the proper level, he pulled out his MiniComp to analyze the area and the data around him. He was able to see Human life forms, Illumidas life forms, and a few he did not recognize. Probably some of the enslaved help. He focused on the one Human form he wanted; the Resistance had scanned Triter recently at another of his press conferences, so he was easier to find. Ah, alone. Good.

Harlock maneuvered into the very tight tunnel leading off of the access hatch tunnel. It was a good thing he was skinny, he thought. He was able to navigate without making much noise between his agility and crepe soled boots. He had taken his spurs off for the occasion; their musical jangling would have been a dead give-away and also quite distracting. He hoped that normal background noise would mask his approach. He retrieved the GrapHook and put it away in his weapons belt. Carefully, he made his way into the ventilation system after turning off the alarms with the lock pick again and putting in place a feedback loop making the security computers think that the circuit was uninterrupted.

He crawled silently through the shaft to where the life form reading of Triter appeared on his MiniComp. Behind the grill in the ceiling, he looked down on the one man capable of sending him into an incoherent rage. Triter. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He HAD to remain unaffected by the murderous baboon in the gilded cage below and just do his job. Too much was riding on this for his own emotions to get in the way.

He prepared to enter the suite after carefully undoing the vent cover fasteners. He was ready to lift the vent cover out of place when the door to the suite chimed and Harlock froze.

He heard Triter say, "Come in, Mr. Zone." The door opened and Mr. Zone entered, crossed over to the Prime Minister and was offered a chair. Harlock stilled immediately and waited to see what would happen. He silently regarded the unholy pair below his position. He wondered when the Prime Minister had condescended to speak with regular military research personnel, and why. Especially the self-important Zone, who was as similar in his hubris as Triter himself; an odd couple to be sure!

Zone studied the Prime Minister a moment and then asked, "Why did you ask for me, Prime Minister? What possible help could I be to you?"

Ah, the very thing Harlock had been wondering. He settled in to listen.

The Prime Minister studied the scientist before him. "How would you like to help me catch Harlock and defeat him once and for all time?" Triter asked.

Harlock decided to let the conversation develop. Perhaps he would learn something interesting. It was always nice to have advance notice of an assassination attempt, he thought wryly.

Zone leaned forward in his chair. "I would love to pay him back for all of the indignities I've suffered as a result of his criticisms of my plans," he said, "but why are you asking me to assist in this?"

"I know that you bear no good will towards him," Triter said. "I need someone to do to him what should have been done three years ago. Take him out."

Zone smiled dryly. "I would be happy to assist in that, but Harlock is not in the habit of being within reach these days. Harlock is mostly a hermit crab, wearing his shiny shell, the Arcadia, upon his back. Nothing entices him out of it these days." He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Nor am I an assassin. Nor do I have the tools or ships that I would need in order to defeat him in space."

Harlock raised an eyebrow at that, for Zone had stated the obvious. He was able to see some things clearly at least...

Triter smiled. "What if I could arrange a ship for you that is the equal of the Arcadia? What if I gave you command of this ship, with our Illlumidas friends assisting you in this endeavor? Would you be interested then?"

Zone nodded. "Yes, I would be interested, but the Arcadia is a new type of design that no one has any idea how to build. More importantly, how will you allow me to slip the leash of our conquerors?" He sat back in the chair to study Triter's expressions.

Triter nodded. "I think that I can convince them to do what is needed to be done - they hate Harlock even more than I do. We do have some remains of the parts left over from when Tochiro built the Arcadia, so they should be useful to your work. You just need to be ready."

Mr. Zone nodded his head and said, "Very well. Just let me know where and when. I'll pull together a team of people to help me. I have an idea that should work very well, but it may take some time to put it together."

Triter rose from his desk, told him he'd be in touch regarding the ship he had in mind and guided Zone to the door. Once he was done, he went back to his desk and sat, deep in thought.

Above him, Harlock paused. A ship the equal of the Arcadia? They would need Tochiro to help with that even if they had some left over parts! And they had a snowball's chance of that happening. Harlock was suddenly glad Tochiro was safely aboard the Arcadia and hadn't come with him on this mission! He wondered what Triter and his keepers had in mind. Perhaps Tochiro would know something about it. Or even Harley. He would have to ask when he returned to the Arcadia.

Harlcok knew that he would need to wait some time before confronting Triter, now. He didn't want to tip off Triter that he had heard that particular conversation. Forewarned was forearmed, he thought. Harlock settled himself more comfortably in the tunnel system. He had time as he was ahead of schedule by almost three hours from the lucky break on the Illumidas not rebuilding that section.

He pulled out the contents of his left trouser pocket and looked at what miniature treasures he had brought with him. An unseen bug for Triter's office area and living quarters would be nice... He scanned the suite below to see where he might be able to place his spying device, the size of a regular cockroach. He smiled. Not a bad simile - a cockroach spying on another kind of bug - a stink bug...

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

All of the Arcadian Space Wolf pilots were in position. It all depended on their Captain, now. They remained stealthed, quiet and hidden from view. The GCSS systems had worked perfectly and no Illumidas ship had had any clue of their parasite riders. Soon they would deliver and then return home to the Arcadia. A few had additional tasks to perform, but that too, depended on the Captain's hunt. Nolan took out a flask and poured a capful, raised the cap high and toasted his Captain and the entire plan -"Ghorum!" He tossed back the fiery drink and swallowed it in one gulp, feeling it burn its way into his stomach. He waited and maintained communications silence.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Three hours later, Harlock decided that he had waited long enough. Everyone was in position. Time to bait the trap. He looked below to make sure of where Triter was at the moment. He was in the den of the luxurious apartment, out of sight and therefore, he wouldn't see Harlock enter.

He carefully moved the grating of the ventilation unit aside. He reattached the GrapHook to his Cosmo Dragoon and on its lowest setting, he planted the end above him in the tunnel to a heavy support beam with a tiny ping. Positioning himself carefully, he glided out and down out of his hiding place. He landed softly on the thick carpeting and disengaged the Cosmo Dragoon from the GrapHook and holstered it at his side.

He crossed the floor to the den and peered within using his cable periscope he kept in his right boot heel. The device was small and was undetectable, unless you knew to look for it. Triter was seated in the recliner with his legs elevated; the day's news DataPad relaxed across his chest. He was snoring softly with his mouth slightly open. Harlock grinned, for this was perfect. He could not have asked for better. He entered the room, quietly, his Gravity Saber drawn. He carefully placed the business end of it against Triter's neck, and then pressed inward. He was actually going to enjoy this part! Hopefully he would not be tempted beyond his ability to bear and actually kill Triter. That would be a mistake in more ways than one.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Triter awoke slowly, muzzy and slightly disoriented. Something was pressing against his neck, jabbing him. He irritably attempted to brush the irritant away, but it only jabbed him harder. He tried to turn away from it, but the irritant followed and became more insistent, poking his neck several times, each more insistent than the last.

He finally opened his eyes and saw something impossible standing next to him - Harlock! He gasped with fear, stiffened in the chair, and tried to shout - except it only came out as a squeak.

"That is right, little traitor mouse," Harlock sneered, "squeak away!" He put on his best nasty bad pirate face and put his nose within inches of Triter's nose, all the while maintaining the pressure of the Gravity Saber on Triter's thick short neck.

"Whaaaat are you doing here?" Triter managed to gasp out between pounding heart beats as he looked into the pirate's unforgiving and steady eye(s). His heart was pounding at least twice it's normal rate. His breathing was rapid as well. He started to sweat profusely.

"Talking to the traitor who sold Earth and her people out to a conquering race who only desires humanity's destruction!" Harlock thundered at him. "I know what you have done! I have proof of your betrayal of Earth and her people!" Dramatically, Harlock pulled a data crystal out of his right trouser pocket and held it out for Triter to see.

Triter's eyes bulged with fear. He couldn't imagine how Harlock could have possession of anything incriminating, but he was also well aware that incriminating evidence existed. As his panicked mind swirled with a way to defuse the angry recidivist in front of him, he tried to force his mind to think. Harlock had gotten the drop on him, for sure! Time, he needed to buy time!

"What do you mean?" Triter's voice quavered; his fear was not at all feigned! "I have done my best for Earth and her people!" He tried to engage the pirate's eye(s), but found he couldn't quite meet them. Instead, he launched into what he did best - political obfuscation - and his voice, if not his heart, steadied.

"I have worked for peace with our Enemies even while you were a Captain in the SolFed Navy. While you were out there fighting so valiantly, I was back here trying to win a diplomatic peace. It was my velvet glove over your iron fist approach." Triter started to warm to his speech. "I really think that peace between the Illumidas and Earth is still possible, but you and the rest of you who won't stop fighting are jeopardizing my efforts and making it harder to negotiate." Triter nodded sagely and smiled as if he were talking to a small child who couldn't quite understand that vegetables were good for them. "Peace is possible, you know. You just have to know what the other side wants most."

Harlock couldn't believe his ears, Triter was actually trying to convince him that he was right and Harlock was in the wrong! Oh, no, he wasn't going to be drawn into this manipulator's lies. He had forfeited that right when he had betrayed Earth and the refugees who died upon this man's orders, orders that had placed them to be in harm's way! No, he hadn't forgotten that awful day!

"Oh, yes, you most certainly have done your best to live fat and above the people you are supposed to serve! Not to mention eating a great deal, while children in the streets starve!" Harlock punctuated his point by poking Triter in his ample gut several times with his Gravity Saber.

Triter tried to curl protectively around his bulging abdomen, but Harlock seemed to be anticipating that and poked him in his sides in rapid succession to get him to uncurl.

Oh, God, the pirate was going to kill him! "Please, Harlock, don't kill me!" He shrieked. I'll do whatever you want, just don't kill me..." Triter started to sob in great wracking breaths.

Harlock inwardly sighed, but maintained his mean look; this was too easy. And he was really was tempted to kill this, this, this politician. He curled his lip up in disdain.

He leaned in toward Triter, "No, little mouse, you will not die today. You deserve to have the people of Earth to really know who you really are and what you have done." He held up the data crystal and looked at it in consideration. He watched Triter's reaction out of the corner of his eye(s).

Triter's gaze also went to the crystal. He had to know! "What evidence do you really think that you have? It cannot be anything important."Triter said, sullenly.

Harlock grinned evilly at him. "Oh, how about the command to let the northern European sector starve while you watched dog races? Or how about the written order that the South American continent could be sacrificed in order to feed your cronies? Does the order to keep food and supplies here, centrally, while people are begging for help elsewhere ring a bell? How about the removal of help for people who displease you? Or the purposeful collapse of the global economy, thievery of all people had?"

Harlock paused and his voice became thicker, darker. "How about the lying words by which you convinced those refugees to move their ships to my battle zone; that you would help them while you really sought their destruction. You did that so that you could get to me, and cause the war to be over in the Illumidas' favor! Or worse yet, the fact that you allowed millions of civilian women of child-bearing years to be killed when you could have saved them - all to please our conquerors and to winnow the ranks of future generations." Harlock shook his head, "No, Triter, your sins are known, well documented by the Resistance."

He paused; Harlock took a deep breath and lowered his voice to gravelly darkness. "Do you not yet SEE?" He rumbled, "The Illumidas desire our total destruction and ALL of your actions have done nothing but assist them in this evil desire. There are but four million humans left on Earth! You have been a force for destruction with your pride, stupidity and inability to truly see your enemy. YOU are the author of Earth's final destruction." He grabbed Triter by the collar of his shirt and held his face close to his own. He narrowed his eye(s) at Triter, who attempted to cringe away.

"Your orders killed my Maya." Harlock bit out, his lips stiff with barely leashed anger. He was very close to berserker rage, he thought.

Triter looked up at Harlock in shock and fear and - how much more did he know? He had thought his tracks were well covered. Triter started to shake for knew that Harlock was mentally restraining himself.

"You ordered her to be hung her on a cross to die and then worked against her rescue - one of your own people that you swore to protect! You encouraged that Illlumidas dog to shoot her in the back - I saw it all on that broadcast Vid! Later, she died in my arms and died with our unborn child inside of her." Harlock said with a thick voice, full of palpable grief and rage.

"And you knew." Harlock finished quietly. It was a bare whisper, all the more terrifying for its softness. "You knew she was pregnant and still you allowed her to be used as a pawn to try to control me."

The intensity of Harlock's anger, Triter's own fear of the truth, and for what he imagined Harlock would do to him in retribution, was too much for his weak soul. He fainted.

As Triter fainted and went limp, Harlock had to manfully refrain from strangling the foul being he held in his grasp. He took several deep breaths to dampen down his rage. He threw Triter back into the chair before him and stared at him as he regained control of himself, slowing his breathing while his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. He willed himself to calm down and looked around the room.

He saw a coat hook bar on the wall holding a coat. Fine. That would do nicely. He stalked over to the coat, grabbed it, and then stalked over to the other corner of the room where there was a plant being held up by a sturdy pole and he ripped out the pole, leaving the plant to droop over and fend for itself. He threaded the sturdy pole through both of the sleeves across the back of the coat. He then wrestled with Triter's bulk and limp weight and dressed him in the coat, closing it from hem to chin. He then dragged him over to the hook and hung the limp Prime Minister of all the Earth on the coat hook bar with his feet dangling in the air and his arms spread to his sides at right angles, held in position by the plant stake . Harlock stood back and crossed his arms across his chest while he studied the effect of Triter in the form of a cross on the wall. Perfect. At least the message would be clear. The same posture Triter had advocated for Maya and Emeraldas when they were hung out in exposed display for all to see. It wasn't the total payment Triter should have, but it would suffice for Harlock's purpose now.

He went over to the Prime Minister's desk and took out a sheet of paper. He wrote on it and signed it with an "H". He stalked back over to the Prime Minister, shoved the paper in his front pocket with ends sticking out and then dropped the data crystal along with it. That should work, he thought. He thumbed a Com, dialed a combination into it and said, "The Prime Minister will see you now." He cut the com.

Harlock then went over to the Prime Minister's Comp and pulled out one more device from his pocket. He inserted it into the data port in the side of the computer. It was a worm drive, courtesy of Tochiro and Sabu. It ate the data on the computer and left nothing in its path. It chewed its way into the mainframe, and then accessed the main Illumidas site, wormed its way in and chewed some more. It would eventually meet with a program or firewall that would defeat it, but in the meantime, it would create much mayhem and destroy many records. As a result, it should also save some lives. It would then self-destruct, leaving no fragments together to reverse engineer the thing.

He left the device in the port and exited the room. He mock saluted Triter on his way out. He had hopefully given the little traitor something to think about, but somehow, he doubted that having Triter know and have his sins pointed out to him was not likely to result in a change of heart for the politician. His heart was too used to living in deceit.

Harlock refused to kill him. It was not needed (although, for his role in Maya's death alone, his life should be forfeit) and Triter would be fearful for quite some time to come, jumping at shadows and making poor decisions.

He grinned a bit, imagining Triter trying to explain how he had gotten hung on a coat bar to the Vid Reporter who would be coming by very shortly. Or where the data crystal and his note had come from. Especially since the data on the crystal would be easily confirmed...

No, the forfeiture of the position he prized was the best punishment he could devise for Triter. Despite occupation, Earth still held "free elections." Harlock didn't think that anyone would ratify Triter's re-election with what evidence was on the data crystal. Even the Illumidas couldn't stuff the ballot box with that many lies... Nor would the people, in light of the actual truth staring them in the face, despite Triter's smooth politician's manner. He wouldn't wiggle out of this comeuppance.

He went over to the Prime Minister's Com and turned it on for speaker. He secreted his bug in the place he had chosen earlier and then reversed his steps, stood beneath the GrapHook and silently exited the apartment the same way he had come. He reattached the ventilation shaft's cover, and then slowly and carefully went back the way he had come in. He unlocked the main shaft when he reached the foot of the shaft and checked for observers. There were none. Good.

He carefully picked his way across the rubble over to where his Space Wolf stood concealed. He signaled it to drop the stealth mode, popped open the canopy and entered, stowed his weapons back in the weapons locker, donned his flight suit and helmet, powered up, and blasted out of the bunker where he was hidden at full military power.

Harlock thumbed his Com and blasted out a command over his communication system in a wide spread beam. "Forest Fire."

He then proceeded to fire on anything in his path, watching his life form scanner to target Illumidas and spare any humans. He needed targets, preferably things that were both showy and noisy. There was a nice satisfying "whump" and spectacular explosion below him to the right as a weapons depot exploded as his missiles hit it. He looked to his left, there, those looked to be fuel storage units and should explode nicely. They did. The resulting fireball reached halfway above his position in the sky. If THAT little display did not bring the Illumidas out to play, he didn't know what would!

He grinned as he barrel rolled the fighter over and then rose in an ascending spiral through the middle of the fireball's mushrooming cloud; his thrusters at full as he exploded out and headed to the Black.

Now, for the fun part!


	5. Chapter 5

Eulogy for a White Rose - Chapter 5

_"Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored." __Aldous Huxley_

Ace Vid Reporter, Michael Holmes, arrived at the Prime Minister's door with his video crew, lighting staff and the other various people and devices required for an interview with the Prime Minister. He rang the door chime and waited several minutes for a response. He rang it again. Still nothing. It was an odd thing for the Prime Minister to do, he thought; arrange a rare interview and then dodge it. He thought back to the voice on the line. It hadn't been a voice that he had recognized as one of Triter's staff, but it was still familiar, somehow...

On a hunch, he tested the door and found it to be open. He pushed the door open a bit further and peered inside. He signaled his staff to begin filming as he leaned inside of the door and called out for the Prime Minister. If there was a problem later, he wanted documentation that he hadn't done anything especially illegal in gaining this interview.

"Hello...?" Michael called out. "Prime Minister, it is Michael Holmes of One World Vision here to see you as you requested." He peered over his shoulder and smiled for the camera. That smile had been known to melt glacially cold women into molten compliance. He used it as a weapon whenever necessary. On film, it could be used and spliced into whatever portion of the interview he and the production team felt was necessary.

He boldly walked into the Prime Minister's quarters and was more than a little surprised to see the comfort, opulence and obviously expensive items within the main rooms. The camera caught all of it as they progressed inside of the suite. The red cushioned couch was a wrap around affair, flanked by deep, comfortable looking leather club chairs with ottomans. The wall was a hologram vid of previously magnificent cities and places on the Earth. There were what appeared to be major works of art arranged on the other walls and large chunky marble and glass tables punctuated the decor, set with mouth watering fresh fruit in bowls. Thick Persian rugs lined the floors. The room was obviously well cared for and very expensive.

Michael started to be uneasy about what he was seeing here. Never had Triter appeared in anything other than a simple business suit, not expensive, nor fashionable. His demeanor had always been one that implied he was "just one of the folks." In opposition to the carefully crafted image the media had reinforced for Triter, this suite was the height of comfort, full of opulence and screamed big money. He stopped before the huge Italian marble desk in front of the large windows along the back of the suite and turned to face the camera again.

"I was called by the Prime Minister's staff in order to have an interview with him, but he does not appear to be here at this time, or is perhaps a bit delayed. However, since we are here, I would like to show all of you that this is how our Prime Minister is living. I believe what the vid shows you is more the truth about our leader than the carefully projected images we have been allowed to see." The cameraman panned the room, carefully documenting the room and its contents.

Michael took a breath and prepared to speak again when a low moan was heard in the next room. All the people in the room looked somewhat startled and then looked over to the next room with trepidation. Michael straightened up and then strode purposely over to the doorway of the den and looked in.

He was shocked to see Triter pinned to the wall like a large moth, two feet above the floor, arms outstretched in the long coat with the plant stake through the sleeves and the coat's front fastened from hem to chin. In fact, the surreal pose struck him as the same pose that the Illumidas used in order to execute criminals on the open air crosses before firing squads. He did not appear to be wounded in any way, but had been placed there for grand effect for someone to find. Him, in fact.

He took in the paper sticking out of the top pocket, the presence of the data crystal, and the drooping plant in the opposite corner. Triter was unconscious, but appeared to be coming around. Michael grinned. This ought to be very, very good indeed...

He ran back to the main room and put on a concerned but serious face as he faced the camera and waved everyone to come in with him. "The Prime Minister has suffered an attack on his person, but is yet alive and does not appear to be overtly wounded. He is in the next room and we will assist him." The staff's eyes grew large, but they were too well trained to comment or do anything other than what their jobs entailed in news making. One production assistant called on her com to get medical help.

Michael went into the room with the camera following his every move. He stopped before the unconscious Triter and took his pulse in a show of concern. At the moment, he thought, the pulse was a bit fast. Interesting. He carefully lifted the heavier man off of the coat bar, having to stretch a bit to reach the bar that held Triter pinned and struggled under the weight of the fellow. Obviously, whoever had put Triter up there was taller and stronger than most...

A production assistant came and helped him carefully lift the leader and put him gently down on the floor. It would not play well to drop the man. They unbuttoned the coat and pulled out the plant stake from the sleeves of the coat. As this was done, Michael made a show of discovering the paper and then the data crystal as they fell from the front coat pocket.

He looked up at the camera, and said, "Perhaps this will tell us why the Prime Minister was hung on the coat bar." He lifted up the paper and his eyes grew very large as he saw the signature. Now he knew why that voice had seemed familiar - Harlock! Hidden from the camera's view he grinned nastily. This was going to be even better than he thought!

"This is a letter that was in the Prime Minister's top coat pocket. Let us see what the person who did this to our beloved Prime Minister has to say for themselves." Michael unfolded the letter and started to read the sheet aloud before the camera while the production assistant placed a pillow under Triter's head and then was covered with a nearby afghan.

"People of Earth, You see before you a politician whom has caused much damage to Earth and her people. He not only arranged that Earth Force Navy would be defeated, millions of lives to be lost, the rape of our world, its people and the hard circumstances everyone must now endure, but also colluded with our conquerors, the Illumidas, long before that defeat came about."

"In fact, I had a plan to defeat the Illumidas with Earth Force Navy and several other allies which would have likely succeeded had it been permitted to deploy. Triter arranged for refugee ships instead of dreadnaughts for that last battle so that the war would indeed be truly lost. How do I know this? I have spent the last three years fighting against the Illumidas, Triter and his cronies, and piecing together the truth of that time. The evidence gathered is contained on this data crystal. All sources are verifiable and I expect that the news team who is here will confirm the information it contains."

Michael turned earnest eyes to the camera, nodded and then continued on. Never before had Harlock spoken out about what had happened when Earth fell. He wondered why the pirate Captain had chosen to do so at this particular moment.

"I will continue to fight for your freedom, but you must be a part of that struggle. Passivity is a death sentence where the Illumidas are concerned. I have witnessed firsthand the death of Tokarga and have confirmed the deaths of the worlds of ten other peoples prior to that. Compliance is a death sentence for all of Earth and her people. That information is also contained on the data crystal." Michael's hands started to shake with that information. He took a deep breath and soldiered on.

"If you desire freedom, you must awaken, take to arms and throw off Earth's conquerors or die at their hands. Is it better to die a slow painful death, or to die like men? That is the question that you must answer for yourselves. I will continue to fight for truth and freedom. Join me under my flag, if you dare."

"Harlock."

Michael carefully folded the note again and picked up the data crystal, examining it in the light. He made certain to twirl it so that light would catch in its facets, throwing light shards about the room. The camera caught every movement and the consideration apparent in Michael Holmes' face.

Inwardly, Michael was both angry and rejoicing, for this scoop would top anything that anyone else had done in recent history. Harlock had called him for this scoop, knowing his reputation for digging to the bottom of things, no matter who might be discomfited by the digging. He would do exactly what Harlock wanted, he thought, for not only was it the right thing to do, it would benefit him professionally. Not only that, if what Harlock said was true, then Triter and a few others needed their comeuppances. Harlock had always been good copy; great for ratings.

Of course, he would have to find the right, respectful balance so as to not get his employers or himself into trouble, but that would be what a journalist was supposed to do, shine a light onto truth. He squared his cinematic jaw and stared into the camera resolutely.

"I will pledge to you, people of Earth, that I will work diligently to find the truth of this matter. If what Harlock says to be true is true..." He laid his right hand out palm upright to indicate the unconscious Prime Minister. "Then we must consider what needs to happen next. If it is a lie, then I will report that to you as well." He tossed the data crystal up in the air and caught it again. He then noticed Triter's eyes opening a bit.

Triter heard voices around him. He moaned. He moved his head to the side and peeled one eye open to look around him. He was on the floor, covered by an afghan. Oh, good, he thought with relief, his staff had found him. He opened both eyes and was startled to see that irritating exposé reporter, Michael Holmes, tossing up a data crystal and catching it again.

The same data crystal Harlock had shown him, no doubt. The Prime Minister sat bolt upright at the same time that Holmes dropped down on one knee next to him. "Prime Minister, did Harlock visit you earlier today?" Holmes asked smoothly. "What did he want, and why were you hung on the coat bar with a plant stake through the sleeves of your coat?"

Triter's face filled up with hateful fear as he snarled, "Harlock!" He then smoothed his facial features out and tried to be reasonable in his responses. "He broke in here, accosted me in my sleep and threatened me. He finally left having gotten nowhere with me. He put me up on that wall, big bully that he is, and I'll bet he called you to come and record my discomfiture!"

"Yes, Prime Minister Triter, I suspect that the call did indeed come from Captain Harlock. But why, sir, would he call us here after treating you as he did?" Michael innocently led his victim down the garden path.

Triter was aware enough to know to not answer those questions. "Who knows why criminals do what they do? I am merely the victim here. I have no idea why he tells the lies that he does. " Triter stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It is perhaps what outlaws are used to doing and can do no differently. He needs to be stopped."

He motioned them to assist him to his feet and they complied. Triter then launched into a favorite cycle of explaining why he was their best hope, not someone like Harlock. Michael kept an open face, but for the first time, wondered if Harlock had indeed been right about Triter. He was now noticing things that he had glossed over before. Triter couldn't quite meet his eyes. He blinked a lot while talking and positioned himself so that he was considering, reasonable and mildly reassuring. All postures indicating partial truth, and manipulation. Triter would nod affirmatively and then make a hand motion which negated his words. All lies, or half truths at best.

Michael began to see truth.

He continued the interview, asking questions but all the while making mental notes to check out certain things, when outside of the suite's window a very large explosion took place. Then another and another. They all rushed to the window to look out, Michael signaling the cameramen to continue filming. Finally, a huge multi-part explosion rocked the building and the area around it for several kilometers.

As the thick smoke went heavenward, a single fighter, no a SPACE WOLF, Michael thought excitedly, broke through the fiery blast as it spread out and pierced the cloud in a spectacular barrel rolling maneuver as it arched skyward.

"Harlock!" Triter snarled, shaking a clenched fist at the pirate's fighter. "So you see, he is blowing up supplies that the Illumidas need to help us!"

And that, thought Michael was the most telling portion of the interview; Triter was equating Illumida with help for Earth, Harlock was fighting a foe that sought humanity's destruction. Two foes, two views with no compromise possible. Was Harlock right, or Triter? Was the Earth asleep and allowing death by apathy? Michael had another uncomfortable thought. What if Harlock WAS right?

The camera caught all of it, including Harlock's spectacular rise to the heavens. Many other Illumidas fighters started to rise up after him, but they did not have the power that Harlock had in his Space Wolf. He looped, dove and generally out flew the others with ridiculous ease, or at least that is how it appeared to Michael. The aerial dogfight promised to be exciting and they continued to film Harlock's airborne antics as he led the Illumidas in a merry chase across the skies.

Michael maneuvered the cameramen into the porch area of the suite, for better views. He called into the main studio to get a live feed going, to chronicle this very spectacular event. Their ratings were sure to be higher than anyone else's this day, he thought.

Another thought stuck him. Harlock was very busy out there, after having been here discrediting Triter... what was this whole fight in the skies about, anyway? Harlock usually did what he needed to do, and then disappeared again. It was both interesting and puzzling that this fight was different. Harlock obviously wanted to be noticed and have attention on his actions. Why?

There was another story here, he just knew it! He tried to reason out what Harlock was really up to, but had nothing to base a hunch on, just a gut feeling that all this was a show and that the real reason was something else entirely. The something else was very, very important to bring Harlock off of the Arcadia and within seeming reach of the Illumidas, Michael thought as he tapped the porch frame, wishing he had the gift of reading minds.

Michael grinned in admiration as Harlock reached the apex of a loop, and then dove down through the inside of an englobement attempt by the Illumidas, scattering them in confusion as he plummeted back toward the Earth. He swooped up toward the heavens again mere feet from the ground at the nadir of the loop, while several Illumidas fighters couldn't make the move and crashed heavily into the ground, raising more fiery blasts, clouds of debris and smoke spreading out from the crash sites. The guy didn't lack confidence, he thought, that was a rather ballsy maneuver.

As more and more Illumidas fighters joined the action, the skies grew quite crowded and it was difficult to pick out Harlock from his pursuers. He had the video man highlight Harlock's fighter to show the patterns better. He watched in admiring but horrified fascination as Harlock did all manner of loops, dives, crazily banked turns and other gravity defying maneuvers in the sky always just a second or two before annihilation. The Illumidas gathered together to try to ram him from the skies, but before they connected with Harlock, the Space Wolf dropped like a rock from beneath them; there was an odd white puff; and then it vanished into thin air.

As Harlock disappeared from sight, everyone gasped in surprise. One moment he was there, bedeviling the Illumidas and causing all sorts of mayhem and then suddenly vanishing from sight. How had he done that? Michael thought in wonder. And, more importantly, why?

He knew he had to leave the Prime Minister's suite now, while things were very confused, and more importantly, with both Harlock's letter to Earth and the data crystal containing the information potentially exposing Triter, before anyone could think to take it away from him.

He started his own confusion train as he headed for the door, calling for medical help for Triter from the Prime Minister's staff, getting everyone to follow after him, cameras still rolling, right past the Illumidas guards, down the lift and out to the outside of the government building.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Michael Holmes and his team were back to the transmitter van and almost back to the studio, before Triter remembered with dismay, that Holmes had a very incriminating data crystal in his possession.

He sent the Illumidas after him, but by that time, the crystal's contents had already been sent to many other sources, all of whom were busy verifying the contents and sending it on. It spread like wildfire and the firestorm with Triter at its center began to form in the media. It took a week, but Holmes and his team sought truth, found it and solemnly reported it to the people of Earth.

The Illumidas watched impassively as Triter tried to charm the masses to no avail. It mattered not to them who watched over the remaining humans until the time of their slated destruction. The Illumidas were still seething that Harlock had literally thumbed his long nose at all of them and had escaped unscathed while they had looked like bumbling idiots.

Supreme Commander Salsonen had disciplined the entire garrison for permitting Harlock's escape. He also wondered, as he looked at the video for the hundredth time, what the white puff had been about. Not only did Harlock have new speed, ordinance and stealth, he had a new way of vanishing. He made a fist and pounded his desk. It didn't bring any new answers but it did make him feel better. He was not used to feeling ineffective, or not in control.

Now to deal with that blasted reporter, Holmes, who had made and broadcast without permission, that whole documentary detailing his people's ineffectiveness against Harlock. One man. A very wily man, but still only one man. He picked up his com.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Triter's powerbase fell away in one day as the full truth became known. He was forced to resign two weeks later as the most damning information came to be verified. Their beloved elected leader actually had sold them to the Illumidas. The Speaker of the State, Madam Isabelle Folon, became their new leader as it was shown that the betrayal had come from more than just the Prime Minister. Many politicians lost their long held positions as truth was told.

And some of the people began to rise from their long sleep, looked around grimly and discovered that their home was far more dangerous than they had thought. They looked for help and followed the whisperings that led to the Resistance. There, they discovered what Harlock had been really up to. And they ate well for the first time, in a very long time. Food began to give them strength and truth brought purpose.

And purpose always leads to action.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


	6. Chapter 6

Eulogy for a White Rose - Chapter 6

_"The jaws of power are always open to devour, and her arm is always stretched out, if possible, to destroy the freedom of thinking, speaking and writing." - John Adams_

It had been three weeks since the interview with Triter, and Harlock's epic battle with the Illumidas fighters. Michael Holmes, ace reporter of One World Vision, had been very busy, getting everything researched and out onto the various media. The station had been allowed to continue during that time and they had all hoped that their fair and truthful handling of the stories was saving them from being shut down.

Michael Holmes was gratified to be able to get the truth out about Triter and the last battle before Earth had fallen to the Illumidas invaders. He discovered that there were also undeserved consequences for broadcasting that truth. When he went the following week to collect the food coupons for his family, he was informed rather smugly that he was no longer on the list to receive them. He suddenly discovered what many people did not realize, that to depend on the government for everyday needs was at best, sinking sand. If one stepped out of line, one could and would be cut off with no means and no ability to fend for oneself. It was a harsh sentence for discovering and uncovering truth.

Everywhere he went, the answer was the same. He was cut off and his family with him by order of Supreme Commander Salsonen and verified by an angry, frightened bunch of ineffective politicians only interested in themselves. Now he understood Harlock's wisdom in self-reliance and living in true freedom. Before, he had not really appreciated the fact that freedom of speech was costly. And he had to admit that as a result of his naiveté, he was totally unprepared for reality.

Michael despaired as he went home empty handed to his family. His children looked up at him with pleading eyes and he suddenly felt what many others on Earth had felt before him. He had been foolish to think that no matter how carefully he presented the truth, that there would only be accolades. The sharks were circling his tank and Michael was frightened for his family. He moved his family to a different address, figuring that it wasn't safe for them home any longer.

When he went to work the next day, the studio doors were bolted shut and Illumidas guards were at the building's entry points. He slunk away before they saw him. As he wandered the streets with the collar of his coat pulled up against the cold and his hands in his pockets, he dully wondered what was next.

While aimlessly travelling the streets in areas he had never frequented before, he happened across one of the posters bearing Harlock's face and reward money amount for his death or capture. He smiled and saluted the poster. Harlock's face seemed to challenge him. Find a way, it seemed to say. He stared at Harlock's image for a while. What way was there? There was no open door, now. Find a window, his heart told him. How could he have hope in all of this misery? He bitterly questioned himself. Beside the poster was the graffiti spray paint message: "Long Live the Arcadia". He hoped that Harlock was able to carry on the fight, for he, the great investigative reporter Michael Holmes, was dead in the water.

Head down he moved on and almost tripped over a vagrant in rags at the next corner. He apologized to the person and told them he didn't have anything to give them. The beggar looked up at him rather cheekily and said with many missing teeth, "Why, then Michael Holmes, I have something to give to you." With that , he brought out a card that had markings on it. There was nothing that connected to his mind with these numbers as he looked at them. He looked down in puzzlement at the beggar. The beggar stood up, smiled, and said, "follow me." Michael shrugged, he had nothing to lose. He followed the man.

The beggar led him to a defunct underground subway tube that looked to have been blocked off. He pressed on a stone nearby and a doorway opened into the cavern beyond. Once inside, the doorway neatly closed shut again. Michael's investigative reporter instincts surged to the foreground of his mind as he keenly took in all he was seeing.

He went to an open area with the man. There were people in a group with computer monitors and video resources. He was surprised to see his main camera vidman amongst them. Roger, he thought, his name was Roger Vymskya. He grinned. Roger grinned back and said, "Well, Michael Holmes, do you know where you are?"

Michael smiled. "I do wish that all those times I moaned about not being able to interview any of the Resistance movement leaders that you had said something." He cocked his head. "How long, Roger?"

Roger smiled, got up from his view screen and came over to him. "From the beginning, Michael. I was here with the White Rose when she was with us." He dropped his head. "We weren't able to protect her at the last and we lost our voice and the truth has been harder to get out. It has been hard to get people to believe us. No one else has had Maya's charisma and heart."

Michael's head came up. "Why am I here, now?" His clenched hands were thrust deep in his coat pockets. Roger looked him in the eyes and seriously asked, "Michael, what do you want?"

Michael looked at him and a banked fire roared back to life in his heart. "I want in. I want to continue to tell the truth, expose lies, and let the people of Earth know that we can't go out bleating like sheep to slaughter. We need to go out, if we go out, with rocks in our hands if that is all we have, and hope in our hearts. We will not go down quietly in the night. No, we will remember who we are, we will fight back, and we will go on." His hands had come out of his pockets and were now clenched in fists at his sides.

Roger smiled again. "Well, then, we do seem to have an opening for a face man, someone who the people out there know and trust. Your recent exposé seems to have qualified you for this position." At Holmes' ready smile, Roger paused and asked very seriously, "Do you know what taking this job on will mean, Michael? You will be the new White Rose, although we need a new moniker for you. You will be a hunted man, just like everyone else in the Resistance."

Michael Holmes squared his shoulders. He had been pampered and privileged up to now. It was time to grow up and to do something that really mattered. Misused power had to be countered by truth, and a pen and a vid camera were all he really needed, that and a ready audience. "I am ready," he vowed.

Roger extended his hand out to Michael. "Welcome aboard, Archangel." Michael's eyebrows rose at his new name. He liked it. Michael the Archangel was reported to be the protector and defender of man and would throw Satan into the fiery pit at the end of time. He hoped he could wield a good enough pen in order to rid them all of their current demons. He took Roger's hand and they shook on it. Both were grinning like madmen.

The others gathered near the monitors were also smiling. Michael looked above the bank of monitors to a painting of a beautiful woman with long blond hair, holding a red rose in her right hand. She was clothed in a white gown from neck to floor with long belled sleeves. Up by her neck, a black vee area bore a symbol on a simple necklace, a gold skull and crossbones, sigil of the Arcadia and Harlock.

He knew he was looking at Maya, the White Rose. He drank in her beauty and remembered some of her broadcasts. At the time, he had only thought them curiously misguided; now he knew them to be important. He was taking on the mantle of Harlock's wife. It was a big job, but he realized it was one he was now truly ready to perform. After all, Harlock had all but demanded that he take on Maya's mantle. Time for Michael accept the position and embrace it fully.

Michael the Archangel went home again that night to move his family into true hiding with the Resistance movement. He finally figured out what Harlock had done, and why he had done it the way he had, when one of his former assistants brought him a month's worth of food for his family in the dark of night. With the packet came a card, black background with a gold skull and crossbones emblazoned on one side, and on the other the words "Follow me to Freedom" written in brilliant blood red script.

He smiled. Long live the Arcardia, he thought, and her Master and Commander.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A new voice appeared on the Resistance wavelengths and pirated vidcasts much to the consternation of the Illumidas and the new Earth Government. The new fellow called himself Archangel and was obviously a newly reborn and reenergized Michael Holmes. His fiery calls to freedom were being met with interest as people stirred from their ennui. He had told them the truth of Triter and had restored to them the honor of their chief Protector and Defender, Harlock. They listened.

Salsonen regretted his mercy of allowing the man to live. He should have had Holmes killed, but he had reasoned that starving to death was punishment enough. Obviously, he had connected with the underground Resistance Movement and was very alive and well. Archangel's family was also out of reach. He curled his hands into fists and set his jaw.

What did it take to kick the stuffing out of these people? All other races had caved in totally by this point. These people kept popping up regardless of what was done to them, hope in their hearts and resolve in their minds. He suddenly realized why High Command wanted all of them dead. They would be agitators to all the other conquered races, if allowed. No, they had to die. For the glory of Illumida, these people had to be wiped off of the face of the universe. He began to drive his crews harder, to extract the resources faster, so that they could be quit of this miserable world, and blow it into oblivion.

He was now dealing with the new Prime Minister, a simpering person who was as frightened of her shadow and of losing her position and life, perhaps even more so than Triter had been. He was truly disgusted with these Earth Leaders. All worthy opponents were out of reach and he was stuck with the remains. Now, if only he could get his hands on Harlock. That would be a good fight. Harlock had bested him in the last battle, but he knew that there would be others to come. The pirate wasn't done with them, no, not by a long shot. And he was only a human. Harlock would make a mistake, somewhere, somehow, and he would be in position to take advantage of that.

He reviewed some of the files Triter had left behind. He noted, with interest, the person Dr. Zone who was to be finding a way to counter Harlock. Well, he had nothing to lose. He opened a link in his com and asked to be connected with Zone. It was a revealing and interesting conversation. He sat back and brooded over his next move.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The crew of the Arcadia returned home after their various missions. They now had farmers from Germany, France and Japan, in addition to helpers from Canada and South America. Julia DeBeaupara worked with them to enhance the Arcadia's farm and forest. All was in readiness.

Harlock did not return at his appointed time. Nor did he return in that next day, nor the next few days, either. His place at the community table was vacant at mealtimes. Miss Masu started placing a red rose tied with a yellow ribbon on his empty plate.

Mimee had taken to her quarters with a violent headache and hadn't emerged the entire time. Doc Zero was quite worried about her, for few knew anything about a Jurassian's physiology.

Kei was moping about the command deck and being short tempered with just about everyone. Yattaran was trying to build a model of Harlock's Space Wolf, but kept making mistakes. He was irritable as well.

Tochiro had tried multiple times to recall Harlock using the chip he had injected him with. No dice. No Harlock and no Space Wolf. What could have possibly gone wrong? Where was he? Why didn't he check in on the prearranged channels? The little engineer all but pulled his hair out.

Harlock was not incarcerated; they would have heard about that from the vids. Nor was he dead, that would also have been noted triumphantly by the Illumidas. They were all in holding pattern waiting for Harlock.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In a fit of despair, Daiba dejectedly assigned himself to cleaning out the CleanBot holding tanks while remembering his time with Harlock and all of the journeys they had taken, the battles fought and won, and the wisdom the pirate had given him; making him think. He was finally doing the last CleanBots in the Arcadia's boat bay that housed the Space Wolves. He pulled out the last one and his hackles arose as he discovered a bright new shiny miniature chip in the holding tank.

He took it to Tochiro, who wept when he saw the chip. It was the communicating chip between the injected recall chip in Harlock's posterior, and the signal booster in his helmet. It had come lose when Tochiro had chipped Harlock, causing him to lose his grip on the helmet and it had hit the deck, and no one had noticed the chip fall out. Without it, the signal would not reach Harlock's finder, nor could they locate him without physically being within 150 nautical kilometers of his implanted chip.

Tochiro and the crew frantically started to look for him stealthed in Space Wolves, but there was an awful lot of ground and sea to cover. And they had to not get caught by either the Illumidas or the Earth Government Central Cronies. They dared not even tell the Resistance leaders for fear that the Illumidas would discover his whereabouts before they did.

Where was Harlock? Tochiro went over it all in his mind many times. He replayed the aerial battle ballet that Harlock had last performed and noted that right before Harlock had vanished, there was a precipitous drop of the fighter, and then a white puff before he vanished.

His heart sank. Somehow, Harlock's untested Atmospheric String Drive had engaged, he had dropped into the nearest string in Earth's atmosphere and vanished. He could be anywhere along that string. He could be on Earth, or outside of it in space on a connecting string. The entire length of the string was a possibility. God alone knew where the malfunctioning Threader had dropped Harlock.

He held his head in his hands and tears fell to his knees. His best friend was somewhere else and unable to respond. He called Emeraldas on the Death Shadow base to tell her. Her eyes were sorrowful, and Maetel's as well. The two sisters looked at each other and then back at Tochiro. His hand crept to the face of the monitor and Emeraldas held hers to her screen on her side, both stared at the other with grief in their eyes.

Maetel was also crying, but she didn't hesitate to think. "Tochiro, what are the odds that he would have left Earth's space?" She quietly asked.

Tochiro looked over at her. "I don't know Maetel. About 50/50, I would guess." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "We've been looking but it will take a long time to search the entire Earth. He would have found a way to contact us, if he was able. I don't want to admit it, but Harlock may be dead." He looked at his wife in sadness his mind swirling in despair.

Mimee heard about the chip from the ships' rather efficient and rapid grapevine and came running in to Tochiro. "He's NOT dead. I know it!" She said fiercely, having overheard the last comment. "I would have felt him die!" Mimee's glow was in full force around her person. "I can feel him, but he's giving me a big headache." She winced and held her temples. "Don't you remember how I got this horrible headache around the time that all of the battle happened? Especially after the end of it? I think he got hurt and is somewhere waiting for us. If I can feel him, he is less than a planet's length away. He's got to be here!" She looked with determination at all of them with her glowing golden eyes.

Emeraldas straightened up and told Tochiro, "Send me what coordinates you have searched. Get everybody out looking in the grid pattern from that string, but do it quietly. I'll coordinate from here." Tochiro nodded. He started to make some notes in the computer, and sent her the data.

He then called Harley and discussed how to search. The Space Wolf teams deployed once more in a all out search for their Captain. They were now experienced with the GCSS system and used it fully.

Tochiro feverishly built more bridging transponders for the pilots to take with them. It was the only way they could locate Harlock. Tochiro was well aware that time was an issue. Every minute was one minute more that someone else would find the Captain before they did.

Mimee's headache did not abate. She was in sick bay, glowing and trying to reach through space and time to her beloved Captain. Zero gave her what medicines he thought would work to help her pain to no avail.

Yatteran carefully maneuvered the fully stealthed Arcadia across Earth's surface, avoiding areas of high traffic, to enable Mimee to let them know if she felt Harlock more strongly at one point than another.

It was a race against time and discovery.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Meanwhile, the Archangel Michael was giving Salsonen his own huge headache. There were riots on every continent and when anyone showed up to take custody of the rioters, they melted into the woodwork. They destroyed nothing human, only that of the crony government and the invaders. True Earthmen were left alone. He was losing control and he needed backup. He called home for reinforcements.

Michael grinned as he listened to his last broadcast. He had borrowed a few lines from early freedom patriots, Jefferson, Adams and Franklin. Best of all was the last borrowed quote from Patrick Henry: "Give me Liberty, or give me death!" He imagined that Salsonen would love to oblige him, but first, he'd have to find him.

And a pen was always mightier than the sword, he thought cheerfully. He began with a quote from Tacitus: "A desire to resist oppression is implanted in the nature of man." He started in on this new project with enthusiasm.

Hmmm, he mused, speaking of resisting oppression, as he began work on his next exposé, he wondered what the good Captain was currently doing. He continued his writing, feeling like an exiled prophet speaking to people who needed his dangerous words of truth.

The question he asked, had he known it, was a question many others were also interested in answering. The silence of that unanswered question was deafening.

Where WAS Harlock?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_**Author's note**__: I had started to do only one chapter, but Michael's story and baptism into his new role of Archangel took a bit more to tell than I had originally planned. _

_I'm going to stand on my soap box now - tune me out if you wish. I do encourage you to take off the rose colored glasses._

_A new voice will always rise when oppression seeks to close its hand against those who treasure freedom. But, follow with caution, for a new voice must be pure and not full of its own agenda and needs. So often those who rise to call against both real and perceived oppression have their own agendas, and they always touting their concern for others, yet if you look closer at them, they frequently don't stand for anyone other than themselves. _

_The sins of Man are three: Power, Prestige, and Money. Look to see what is really behind those who claim to be those with truth. Follow the money. Follow their pasts. From past deeds and actions one can discern their true intent for the future. Who is their target audience? Why? What do they get out of it?_

_True voices stand the test of time and peril. They are the ones who are willing to walk into fire themselves and do not send others in their stead. Many places in this world today we have voices proclaiming truth, yet they send others to die for them. They do not lead, they send. What is behind such "leaders"? Nothing good! I promise you that! Think objectively, research thoroughly and reason intently. _

_Do not take freedom for granted. Ever._


	7. Chapter 7

**Eulogy for a White Rose - Chapter 7**

"_Always focus on the front windshield and not the review mirror." ― __Colin Powell_

Harlock flew his Space Wolf with every trick he had ever learned, and a few new invented moves for good measure. He was doing well with his confusion tactics; continuing to confound the Illumidas Forces - who were obviously irked that they couldn't land a shot against him without taking out one of their own. Harlock was actually having fun and was grinning widely as he performed his aerial acrobatics. The interesting part was that his Space Wolf was not only faster, but also had better armament, and more powerful ordinance with the new Dark Matter technology and String Drive. He had wanted to test this out and was very satisfied to find that it was so. This would make battle in the future more in his favor.

He cheerfully pounded their lines, their barracks and airfields, and other rather noisy and showy fuel storage units, power depots and munitions storage with great precision and effectiveness. It was like shooting in an carnival arcade, he thought, as he squeezed off another round, while jinking the flyer out of a locked-on enemy signal. He loved blowing things up - especially since he wouldn't have to clean it all up, he thought with amusement. He wondered if he was a fighter pilot because he liked to make things go bang, or if he just liked flying by the seat of his pants. Or if he just liked thumbing his nose at totalitarian regimes - maybe all of it combined - whatever, he mused, it didn't matter. He caused his flyer to do a controlled stall and drop out of the attempted englobement maneuver the Illumidas were trying to use to trap him. Hah! He thought. Good try, but no dice... He was far below them now and they were trying to figure out where he had gone, flying around and not realizing he was below them.

He didn't want to lose their attention, so he targeted a few more noisy things to refocus his adversaries. It wasn't time for them to look at anything other than himself; give them a merry chase, that he would! He looped up and around an Illumidas marker monument, all but daring them to blow it up in order to get at him. He chuckled, well, they weren't willing to blow that up, apparently there were limits to what they were allowed to take shots at!

He was hoping that Michael Holmes was getting all of this on Vid, as he wanted a powerful statement to reach Earth's people. Resistance was not futile and he was determined to show them that one man could do a lot to great confounding effect. He continued his strafing runs and angled his wings and fuselage so that anyone in the Prime Minister's apartments would see that the Death's-head Sigil was prominently placed on the side of the Space Wolf. As he traveled through the battle zone, he did a victory barrel roll within sight of the balcony of Triter's apartment. He was laughing as he saw Triter shaking his fist at him and shouting. - probably all sorts of cursing, he thought; which made him very happy. Anything to make that little toad uncomfortable was fine by him! He also noted the vid crew was filming him and his antics, He smiled, gave a thumbs up and waved for the nice people. He saluted them with his usual two fingered salute, nodded and flew back into the fray. He didn't want to seem TOO cocksure...

He had thought over who to call for the "interview" with Triter. He had settled on Holmes because of his history of balanced and non-biased ability to tell all sides of a story in a truthful fashion. He had had several people to choose from and felt that Holmes was the best of the lot. He hoped that Holmes was smart enough to move his family into hiding, and that he had stocked up on non-perishable foods and supplies for what would be coming his way. Harlock knew that once Michael Holmes broadcast this story, and decoded the crystal he had been given, that he would become a hunted man. Harlock hoped that he had judged the man correctly, for if he had not, Michael would fall and Triter would not be forced out of power. To avert that, he had placed an operative of his own in the region to guide the videographer and his people if needed. Hopefully, all would go as was planned. Time would tell, he thought. And with that, perhaps people would reawaken and notice that there were wolves among them, posing as other sheep.

The skies were getting rather full of Illumidas flyers and he was having some trouble maneuvering as he was all but bumping into them all. He managed to fake out about twenty at one time and chuckled as four of them creamed their own people in six other flyers. That also gave a spectacularly large boom! Well, he had wanted showy and noisy distractions to keep them all from looking at what he _wasn't_ doing, and this meant that the ones delivering the supplies to the Resistance were probably reasonably safe. He could do this all day, he thought, as he easily dodged another attempt at forcing him from the skies. This particular group was disorganized and not terribly effective, he thought. There were too many, in bad formations, and they weren't looking after their wing mates. Bad form all around.

After many minutes of playing cloud hide and seek, scissoring, stalling, dropping and creating as much mayhem as was possible for one determined pirate captain to do, he received a short burst. "DONE." Harlock smiled. The signal was encoded and he requested the computer to unpack the message. All the other Space Wolves were complete in their missions according to the burst. He could go home now.

Suddenly, a large number of the Illumidas flyers started to act strangely. He was curious as to why this was happening, however, their malfunctioning fighters was not his problem. He flew underneath of one of the command flyers still operating properly, and decided to bug out in all of the current confusion; he had delayed long enough. He gave the order for the GCSS to engage so he could piggy-back and disappear from view.

He suddenly dropped a thousand feet in a second, his fighter crackled with malfunctions all over the place. There were so many malfunction lights engaged all at once that he could better count the non-lit ones. He struggled to control the full stall of the Space Wolf without much success. No fail-safes were kicking in. He might need to eject, and in the current crowded airspace, that was not only a bad idea, it was also suicidal. He tried to turn off the GCSS in hopes of counteracting the effects and noted with horror that the In-Atmosphere String Drive had engaged instead of the GCSS. He tried to toggle off the switch with both hand and voice control. It did not respond at all. His onboard computer was frozen into the program and it was obviously "buggy" with some viral malady.

Harlock tried to stay focused and manfully fought to regain control of the flyer. He was dropping like a rock, briefly wondering if he was finally going to go be with Maya, and suddenly he went between the spheres of space and time, the Space Wolf slammed him against the back pads and restraints as it latched onto something. That something was probably a String, or a fiber of one, he thought, if Tochiro's theory was correct. He started to breathe again and looked around him in his new surroundings. Tochiro had postulated what would lie here, between the fibers of time and space, but they hadn't run tests on it to be sure of anything. The invention was too new and completely untested.

Harlock found himself to be in a white universe without stars or any other identifying objects to help orient him. It swirled in shades of white, grey and smoke. A single gleaming strand was lined up with the nose of the Space Wolf as it followed it precisely. He marveled at the sight around him, but also had the strange feeling that he was being watched and looked around, but nothing was in his line-of-sight. He looked back to his control panel to record what he was seeing and wanted to be sure he could give the data to Tochiro. His on-board instruments spun out of control and he had no readings of spatial positioning. He wondered where he was and where the String would leave him. Harlock finally got the manual switch to obey him, and he turned the system off, praying that it would return him to normal space, and with luck, somewhere he knew.

As he vaulted back into normal space two things instantly occurred to him; one was that he was in a lot of trouble, and second, that he was going to crash. He responded as fast as he could, knowing that human response times would be too slow for what was coming. "Full reverse thrusters! Full Stop!" He shouted out, knowing that the fighter was already aware of the proximity of danger and he saw the stasis field employ around the ship, while it had already fired the reverse thrusters at full blast. It went into preservation mode to protect its fragile human commander.

The proximity collision program had already kicked in before he had called the order, and the AI of the ship had decided that ejecting the pilot was more dangerous than not. Several things happened in the microseconds before the crash. His seat molded to him to hold him tightly and the crash shield came over his face, while the restraint straps readied to hold him tightly and then give slightly to help with the forces of a full frontal crash. His helmet was contained within the enfolded pilots' seat head rest, holding him as straight as possible, but also attempting to assist with protecting it's occupant. The stasis field would help greatly, but even so, the pilot's body would be bruised and sore from the restraints and molded crash seat, but the stasis stabilizers which should have kicked in to internally shield his brain and internal organs, did not.

Harlock had reappeared right before a large red barn, and its front door was wide open and he was headed at about Mach 3 into its interior. Fortunately, this barn's back door was also open and as the fighter barnstormed through it, one would have seen cows in their stalls feeding on hay, perhaps marveling at the sight of a fighter flying through their home. Harlock didn't see them, he just held on and prayed as the fighter passed through the first barn without incident, bleeding off as much speed and loft as possible to attempt an emergency landing, hopefully in an open field beyond the barn.

Unfortunately, another barn was beyond the first one. It's front door was also open and the fighter went into this one as well. However, the back door was not open and there was a solid wall of hay in front of the ship. His fighter hit the wall of hay bales, and while the safety systems did what was possible to conserve the fragile human within the cocoon, force is still force, and velocity is still velocity - despite being lessened, the time and distance had not been sufficient to bleed all of it off.

The piles of hay bales exploded with the force of the fighter's entry, flying out of the barn in all directions. His body came through the crash reasonably well cushioned. His brain, as all human brains will do in accidents, bounced forward in his skull hitting the frontal lobes against the inner side of the forehead, and then bounced back to hit the inside of the back of the skull. He went unconscious instantly, going limp. His fragile brain bounced around a bit more inside of his skull, and then stilled as the Space Wolf finally came to rest. His other internal organs had also suffered some jostling and bruising. Several ribs had stress fractures, but he would not be aware of this for some time.

Harlock's Space Wolf finally came to rest inside of the large hay barn, pointed slightly upward, almost through the entire wall of hay to the other barn door. It was about 10 meters up, and almost directly in line with both doors. Cushioned in the hay, it did not explode, but shut down automatically as it could "see" the highly flammable substance it was encased within. There was also a wall of hay that fell over the cockpit shield, once the AI dropped the external stasis shield.

The last two actions the computer took was to unlock the canopy for pilot retrieval, and to attempt a homing beacon to the Arcadia. The directional signal was unable to be employed because in the crash, the external sensor dish array had been sheared off by the forces against it. Externally deaf and blind, the computer settled on monitoring its commander, who was breathing, but completely unresponsive. It registered the brain swelling inside of the skull and internal organs, dutifully noting the rising intracranial pressure, and the narrowing of the blood pressure, lowered pulse rate, fractured ribs, contused heart and lungs, and the slight tear in the spleen. It snaked out an umbilical to start a line on him; quickly piercing his anterior tibial space below the knee with a bone marrow needle, started fluids, as well as releasing some nanobots to go fix the torn spleen, and repair what internal damage was possible for them to do. Externally, all that showed was a bloody nose and split upper lip, and there would be a large number of colorful bruises all over his body.

OOOOOOO

Jakob Schulte was well satisfied this day. He took off his flat topped straw hat and mopped his brow. He stood outside of the barn in his dusty black trousers and equally dusty work boots and blue shirt. His face bore a luxurious blond beard, but no mustache. His hair looked as if someone had put a bowl on his head and cut around the edges. His black suspenders held up his trousers as he wore no belt, and buttons and ties secured his clothing. Zippers were not "plain" enough to be used. If the items hadn't been used in Amish history, then they wouldn't be used. If Jesus hadn't needed them, neither did he.

He had put his good plow and work horses back into their paddock and had given them some barley mash and a measure of fragrant hay. They had worked hard, too. He was soon to head back up to the house where he knew his mother and his wife, Rachel would be finishing up making dinner. Such as it was these days, he thought. It was strange, he mused, that with all of the terrible wars that the Green English had brought to the Earth, foods for people were scarce and many hungry people had been coming to see the Amish, knowing of their farming skills and frugal natures. The people worked hard to feed those who came, and trusted that God would provide - after all, he had started with two loaves of bread and five fish, had he not?

Despite the odd coldness in the weather, he had managed a good crop of cabbages, beets, winter wheat and hay. Today, he had worked very hard and was happy for what he had accomplished. He had worked a goodly part of the day - and had been awake since 0430. He had milked the cows, processed the raw milk for their neighbors, especially the ones with small children who needed it the most. He then cut the wheat, threshed it and had packed it up to be ready for market. It should bring a goodly price, he thought. Then, he had carefully stacked the hay bales he had hand-bound a week ago in the very large barn. It had fully filled the large barn, from floor to ceiling rafters. At least the animals would have food, he thought.

It had been a very strange year for crops and the color of the sky was worrisome to him. Rain patterns were off and many animals were no longer plentiful. The usual white-tailed deer of the area had been hunted down quite a bit, and were now quite shy of humans. He couldn't blame them. It was different from three years before, he knew. He wondered if the end of the Earth was imminent. Well, he thought, it was as God willed. If it was time for the skies to be rolled up like scrolls, he would not complain.

His people accepted what came with as much grace and simple dignity as they could bring forth. They lived simply, worked hard, gave no one any trouble and avoided dealing with the "English" as much as was possible. The Amish way of life might be hard work, but it's simplicity and faith driven acceptance of one's lot was ingrained in its people. The Lord gave, the Lord took away, blessed be the name of the Lord, he thought. He believed in God's provenance with all of his heart and trusted implicitly in His provision for all of them. Jakob did not even pretend to understand the Will of God, but he was content to trust and obey.

As he was preparing to go and close the door of the hay barn, a loud crack of white light and deep thunder all but exploded 50 feet from the front of the cow barn. To his extreme surprise, a large flyer emerged out of nowhere, and at a almost too fast to be seen pace, swept into his cow barn, flew through it and then into the second barn. Astounded, he watched with an open mouth as it finally came to a fast stop within the hay, exploded the neatly stacked hay bales into shreds of flying hay. A large quantity of hay exploded back outside of the barn, and the force of the blast tumbled Jakob head over heels into a small pile of loose hay outside of the barn. The booming ceased and the whine of a powerful engine also banked.

Jakob had never seen the like before. What in God's Holy Name was that? Where had it come from? And why was it now in _his_ barn? He sat up slowly, spat out a mouthful of hay, and noted that he was a bit sore from being thrown into the hay stack. He emerged from the pile a bit worse for the wear. His hat was long gone, and hay stuck out from his clothes and hair at odd angles. He didn't much care about that, he was more concerned as to why he had a confounded flyer in his hay barn! As he arose from the pile of hay, he recalled hazily that flyers generally held a pilot or so. Someone might be inside of it. He walked over to the side of the barn and peered in at the scene.

In the center of the barn, about twenty feet up in his piles of hay, was a large, black, white and red machine of war. He shuddered. War was against their principles and this thing in his barn was an alien thing to him, and the thinking that went with war was totally beyond him. He supposed that some sort of soldier was in the aircraft and figured that perhaps he ought to check. Especially since it didn't look like anyone was coming out of it. He wondered if the person was alright, or injured.

Jakob laboriously climbed up on the hay bales and sloshed across to the side windows in the aircraft. He brushed away some hay, as the front of the flyer was deeply embedded into the hay, to peer inside. He cupped his hands around his eyes against the transparent window, to help focus in all the swirling dust. He was finally able to look into the side window of the craft and saw a seated, belted pilot within. He had on a very odd sort of black uniform, complete with gold zippers and what looked like a cape. The helmeted head was held by the seat, and it was obvious that the pilot was not conscious. He looked for a way to open the window, but could not quite reason out how it was put together. He supposed he would have to use his crowbar, but then the whole top of the flyer popped open slightly with a soft click. He pushed on it and it opened without a sound, smoothly moving up.

Jakob reached out a hand and gently touched the man within the pilot's chair. He got no response. He did see him breathing, but the depth of breathing didn't look quite normal to him. He wondered if the suspender-like bindings across his chest had anything to do with that. There were buckles on the front of the chest. Since these kinds of buckles were also "not plain", he had no idea of how to work them. Jakob pulled out his pocket knife and began sawing on the tough fibers of the belts. It was slow going. He eventually got one strap sawed through, and then suddenly, all of the buckles released. He felt he hackles on the back of his neck rise; it was like the buckles had known he wanted them off.

Since Jakob had never encountered Artificial Intelligence before, the idea of a ship that could think would have both astounded him and made him very wary of it as being the Devil's trap for the unwary. The figure in the strange chair slumped forward and the helmeted head hit the console. Jakob winced. That had to have hurt...

He was finally able to extract the pilot, and the lines attached to him, from the flyer, dragged him from the barn, which was full of choking dust, to the outside and laid him out gently in the hay pile. Once he had the man, for he was obviously a male pilot, laid out on the hay, he tried to see what uniform he was wearing. While Jakob was not terribly well informed regarding uniforms, he didn't think that the black uniform with the white skull and crossed bones on the chest, was for either the Green English, nor the Earth English. The flying vehicle also had the same insignia on its sides. He had seen it somewhere, but at that moment could not lay a hand on the place nor time. It was currently unimportant.

He tugged on the helmeted head. If he could see the face, perhaps he would be able to tell what kind of person was within. He fumbled with the straps again, and surprisingly, they also popped off and the face shield retracted inside of the helmet. He removed the helmet and straightened the man's neck and stared down on him in shock.

Other than having a split lip and a bloody nose, the man in front of him in his hay pile matched the pictures he had seen in town, Bird-in-Hand, for some notorious pirate, or some such. He had seen the posters of this man while going into town to sell his crops. He looked at the man's face; a well-healed scar bisecting his cheek from across the bridge of his nose, down to the left side, almost down to the jaw line. His right eye was covered with an eye patch, volumes of messy, untamed, red-brown hair were his most distinctive features. Jakob also noted the strong Germanic jaw and chin and wondered where the man hailed from. He wondered idly how the man had lost his eye; probably in fighting, he thought. Another thing the Amish did not subscribe to doing. He grimaced - obviously this man had been through a lot and led a very different kind of life than Jakob did.

He noted that the man's breathing was a bit better, now, lying down, outside of the flying thing, but still not quite normal. The man was obviously injured. He would take him up to the house for his mother and Rachel to see what they could do for him.

Jakob, strong from years of hard farm work, hefted the limp pilot up over his shoulder, put the bags of fluids in his pockets, and began to walk the distance from the barn to the main house. For as thin as the man was, he thought, he was heavier than he would have at first appeared. He arrived at the house some ten minutes later, bearing his burden. He opened the front door and called out to his wife.

"Rachel, crashed into the barn, he did. Injured, sleeping he be." Jakob stated in his distinctive dialect.

Rachel, a tidy small woman with a dark navy longer dress, covering her from her neck to down to below her calves, covered in a full white apron, and wearing a white bonnet covering her tightly bound light brown hair pinned up on her head, gasped as she saw her husband, all disheveled and covered in dust and hay, carrying into her clean kitchen a tall man over his shoulder. She quickly removed her bowls off of the very large and long kitchen table.

"Here, down putten him." She stated. She watched as her husband deposited the man on her previously spotless kitchen table. He took up most of it in length, but not nearly it's width. She studied the man. His breathing wasn't quite right. And he wasn't awakening at all, from what she could see. She saw the obvious injuries, but knew he probably had internal problems.

She turned to Jakob and raised a brow at him. He shrugged. If he told her what he had seen, she would have thought him touched, he knew...

At that moment, an older grayed woman entered the kitchen. She was dressed identically to Rachel, but her dress was entirely black, denoting widowhood. She looked from Rachel, to her son, and then on to the man lying on her kitchen table.

Widow Schulte quickly crossed the kitchen to get to the wounded man. She studied him for a moment, taking in his appearance, and his condition. "Fetch Doc Thea." She ordered. She went back to attending to their unexpected guest, Rachel helping her attempting to unfasten some of his clothing to look beneath to see what injuries he had. Working on a farm frequently meant that the men would become injured, so simple first aid was well within their understanding. They would seek outside help only when it was obvious there was no other way.

Her son started to protest, but then nodded and left the kitchen; this man's injuries were most likely beyond them. It wasn't as if he had fallen from the upper loft of a barn to the floor below. Jakob went to the horse paddock and hitched their walking horse to the buggy. He then set off at a fast trot toward the town. It would take him some time to reach the medical clinic where Doc Thea quietly practiced, and then relate the tale of their strange guest. He shook his head. Whatever was the world coming to?

OOOOOO

"Doc" Thea sighed as she counted the remaining doses of antibiotics and pain medications that she had. She was almost out of bandages, and her stock was severely depleted. She looked around at the dismal, small Wellness clinic she was using as her base. She was the only medical person within 30 miles and she was really a nurse, not a doctor. She was however, good enough for the people around the area to trust her and she had been with them a long time, researching their genetic lines and looking at the costs of the all too frequent results of inbreeding of a small population.

If the Illumidas had known that she was there and practicing, they would have come and finished destroying the small clinic. They also would have killed her, she knew. The only medical people permitted were in the big cities where the Illumidas could both monitor them and control who they treated. Most people were allowed to die without treatment. Simple cuts turned into infected sores or gangrenous limbs that eventually killed the person who was unable to obtain treatment.

The only reason she had been left alone was that where she was, it was remote from their point of view, so far away from Megapolis. The population there was comparatively small as well. It wasn't worth their time to fool with a place like Bird-In-Hand, nor to bother the gentle, non-combative peoples it contained. So, she treated those she could, and helped those she could not treat with as much dignity as was possible as they passed onto a better place.

Oddly enough, she did have a robot operator to help her. One had been in route by shipping to get to a large hospital in Lancaster, complete with several years worth of supplies, but when the war hit, it had been left by the roadside outside of town as the driver had abandoned it. The Amish inhabitants of the area had found it and dragged it by horse and wagons to her clinic. She had asked them to install it in the basement and had set it up. She had done her best since then for everyone and kept her head down so as to not attract attention. She knew eventually she would be found out, but each day of freedom was one more day not enslaved or dead. The people of the area trusted her, she had been with their communities studying them long before the war had broken out.

Once the war had hit, she had had nowhere to return to - her entire family was gone. So she stayed with her adopted people, the Amish. While she was not a part of them, they accepted her as an English who would do good for them if she could. She had explained to them that she had needed an alternate power source to continue to run the medical clinic, so they had hooked up a windmill and a creek-driven paddle wheel to help her. She stored the power she could in her rechargeable portable generators and built several more to help. It didn't begin to truly power all she needed, so she was extremely careful of her usage.

She had no idea that her life was about to change.

Neither did Jakob and his family.

OOOOOO

_Author's note__: Yes, I've left this one "cook" for a bit longer than I had originally planned, but I was having far too much fun with "Trouser Travails", and "The Bauble." I also had to find a new job as my old one had to cut my hours. It has been an overly busy time for me. But, I'm ready now to journey on!_

_The Amish people are an interesting culture. There are now many varieties of them, from the ultra strict no modern conveniences at all, up to those who will permit cars and cell phones - but the cars have to be all black, including the bumpers, and the phones have to live in the barns. Despite these odd restrictions, one belief stays strong: live simply, be self-sufficient, and trust God for all that you need. They tend to not be a part of the rest of America, but came here early in America's history seeking religious freedom and political asylum. _

_I will attempt to portray them as best as I can, but they tend to be rather insular, so not as much is known of them as I would like. Their speech patterns are also peculiar - a blend of every country they were thrown out of before they emigrated to America. The base is German, but any Germanic speaking person would not be able to communicate with them, as language drift has occurred. While quaint, it is difficult to write for one unaccustomed to it. I will likely use archaic forms of English to convey "difference" here on out._

_They have big red barns but no power/electricity to the main house. Interestingly enough, the cows may have lights and electric, but not the people! One of the interesting little idiosyncrasies that they have. A barn raising is an event of epic proportions - see the scene from "The Witness" and you'll have a fairly good idea._

_Above all, they are peaceful and are also conscientious objectors to the art of war. Into their land and culture will Harlock fall, and he will feel as if he has fallen into Alice's rabbit hole... _


	8. Chapter 8

Eulogy for a White Rose - Chapter 8

_"Love is the emblem of eternity: it confounds all notion of time:_

_effaces all memory of a beginning, all fear of an end."_

_Germaine De Stael_

As Jakob headed out to get Doc Thea, Rachel and her Mother-in-Law, Widow Schulte, attended to their unexpected guest to the best of their abilities. They struggled at first with the closures on his clothing, but eventually were able to loosen the zippered collar and sleeves. They had tried to use scissors to cut the clothes off, but the scissors had broken on the Battle fabric of the suit. The boots were no problem as they simply slipped off of his legs and feet. The belts were not too bad, either, once they figured out how the buckles worked. The worst was getting the shirt and trousers off of him as they were rather form fitting. Eventually the two ladies prevailed as one held him still, while the other tugged firmly to peel them off of him. Gasping, and panting with the effort of removing them, they wondered how he had gotten them on in the first place!

The two Amish women also wondered at the man's preoccupation with skulls and crossbones. It was even emblazoned on his small trousers and undershirt. They looked at each other and raised eyebrows, but didn't spend more than a moment's puzzlement over it. Finally, they had him unclothed enough to see what sort of damage there was to his body.

Other than the split lip, bloody nose and a few scrapes, he wasn't in bad external shape. Widow Schulte plunked on his distended stomach and realized that he was more than likely suffering from internal bleeding, but that would need to be handled by Doc Thea. He also was starting to color rather dramatically in the rib area and two ribs on the right side appeared to be not in line with the rest of the ribs. Likely broken, she thought, as she and Rachel then wrapped his chest with torn strips of linen to help support the fractured bones. She fingered the intra-osseous line of fluids and realized that this was probably a good thing, but was a bit surprised at the placement of the needle. She had never seen that before, even before the war in a hospital, when such still existed. A non-Amish friend had been in the hospital and she remembered the woman having a line in her arm in a vein. This looked like it was inside of the leg bone below the knee. She wondered if that would be painful and was glad the man wasn't currently conscious.

They had removed the eyepatch on the right eye, and realized that he had had an earlier injury, resulting in the loss of that eye. They were at first puzzled by this as he had a false eye which was non-reactive to light. It was the Widow who realized that the man had a prosthetic eye. Rachel went and peeled back the one eyelid they had available to them. The real pupil was moderately small, but still round. He had likely been given some pain medicines, she thought, before her husband had gotten the man out of the barn crash. The eye did react to light, which was a good sign, she thought.

She had seen the other sign of eye non-reaction happen when her younger brother had fallen from the barn roof when she was much younger. He had died from the fall. The Doctor of the time had said that he would need emergency surgery in order to save him, but that it might not work even then. Before anyone had been able to discuss the matter, her brother had gone into convulsions and had died in their mother's arms, never regaining consciousness. Rachel had never forgotten either the event, nor her mother's sadness over Obadiah's loss. He had only been twelve years old at the time. She shook the memory from her - she had a living man in front of her and remembering the loss of her brother at this time did this man no good at all!

They treated his cuts and scrapes with water, soap and clean rags. He was still, even after being cleaned up, a bit worse for the wear, as his face was also beginning to purple up with bruises over his eyes, forehead and nose. In addition to his already present scars, he would have two rather impressive black eyes and swelling in his face. The legs, chest and abdomen were also beginning to bruise most colorfully.

Having done the best they could with their limited abilities, Widow Schulte gathered a colorful and intricately sewn handmade quilt in her arms, jthen she and her daughter-in law rolled him to one side and the other to put the quilt under him and then another one over him. The patterns of the two quilts were dizzying in combination, but very beautiful in and of themselves. Rachel remembered that someone with a head injury needed to have their head elevated a bit, so she also put a pillow under his head. His breathing was a bit easier now, and they relaxed a bit. They hung the bags of fluids on a peg meant to hold aprons, so the gravity would help with the infusion.

They sat on simple chairs next to him on either side of the table to await Doc Thea. The two ladies, one older, graying and experienced, and the other, young, and beautiful in her simplicity, looked at their guest with sad eyes. Both wondered who he was and if they were going to be able to save him. Whatever happened, they would accept it. They both bowed their heads to pray to God for the preservation of this man who God had seen fit to put into their lives. They also prayed rather fervently that his presence would not endanger all of them.

OOOOOO

Jacob finally reached Doc Thea's clinic. They had all done their best to disguise what it was in order to protect her from the occasional Green English patrol. The Clinic's sign had been removed and burned, the medical caduceus posted on the outside wall was likewise destroyed. The waiting room had been turned into a living room with used chairs and couches, while the desk had been turned into a breakfast bar sort of arrangement. The patient charts, which had been originally on computer, were now in folders in the basement in ancient chests that used to hold toys, quilts and clothing. An upper layer of quilts were always on top, in case someone looked to see what was in them.

The upper clinic, which had originally held exam rooms had been turned into a sort of inn. The guests, of course, were patients, but with the way things were done, they could pass as guests in a Bed and Breakfast if needed. On one occasion, a Green English had insisted upon being a guest overnight, and the community had rallied around Doc Thea, bringing in food for both the dinner and a gracious Amish smorgasbord the next morning. The Green English left the next day, stuffed and well-fed, satisfied that the inn was indeed an inn, while everyone else had collapsed in astonished disbelief that they had pulled off this deception. Somehow, the hidden robotic operatory in the basement - behind a false brick wall - had gone unnoticed to everyone's great relief.

Jakob remembered that Thea had been astonished that the Amish Elders would lie to such a degree for her. They had rather amusedly told her that they hadn't lied at all. People frequently see what they expect to see, they said. Since the Green English had expected to see a Bed and Breakfast, and they had provided that very thing for him, why would he have thought any differently? They did tell her that if they had been directly asked if it was a medical clinic, they would have told the truth and taken the consequences for their actions.

Jakob got out of the buggy and hitched the horse's lead to the hitching post in front of the "Inn." He went up the steps and knocked on the front door.

Thea was inside the clinic when she heard the knock on the door. She went up the steps quickly, as it was unusual for her neighbors to come calling at dinnertime unless there was trouble. She had also been thinking of the time the Amish had rescued her from discovery and had been amazed at their way of circumventing the laws of Man, not those of God. She smiled as she ascended the steps. These folks had made her think, a lot. She had mulled that episode over for a long time. Peaceful rebellion could be just as effective as forceful means, given the circumstances, she concluded. She also had newfound respect for the Amish Elder's wily ways.

She got to the door and opened it to find Jakob Schulte standing there, with his winter hat in hand. Odd, she thought, this time of year the men always wore their straw hats. She also noticed that he looked like he had gone swimming in a hay pile. While Jakob was a young man of about thirty, he was not one to indulge in jumping into hay piles with his children. She wondered at his appearance and his troubled expression.

He spoke almost immediately. "Disturb thee, I must, Doc Thea. Trouble there hast been, accidental at farm. An English, injured is. Waken he not. Injured head, bones broken likely. Come, please." It all came out all at once in heavy Pennsylvania Dutch. He waited.

She digested the news and realized that something extraordinary must have happened. She asked him a few questions, then retrieved her medical bag, and a few assorted hypo-spray syringes with trauma medications within them. She put bags of fluids in her travel bag, and a diagnostic scanner. That would have to do, for now, she thought. She went out the door, got into the buggy with Jakob, and he turned the horse around as they headed back out to the farm. She wondered if she should have taken her vehicle, but realized as Jakob already had, that this would have drawn attention to them. She would have to wait and hope that the patient wouldn't die before she could get there.

She wondered who the man was and tried to get Jakob to talk, but he doggedly shook his head and urged the horse to go faster. He wanted to wait until they got further out of town. He had heard of devilishly clever English devices that could hear one speak from a hidden distance. He did not want to endanger his family, nor their community. The ride was a long one, he would wait until he was certain no one could hear them talk. Instead, he spoke of dinner with the family and the children as they drove along. She went along with his ruse.

OOOOOO

Kei Yuki wanted to pull her hair out. By each strand if possible. No one could figure out where Harlock had vanished to. They had quietly searched about twenty-five percent of the areas around the coordinates from which he had disappeared. No joy. Miime was closeted in her quarters with a splitting headache for which Doc Zero had no medicine to help. She just said that she could feel Harlock less than a planet's length away. Fine. He was here - but where? She gritted her teeth and responded to the Blue Team that had searched quadrant D to no avail. They went on to quadrant N.

"Captain," she whispered to the silent bridge, "where ARE you?" Kei stared at the empty Captain's chair and vacant ship's wheel for a moment before turning back to her job of monitoring both the Arcadia's search teams and the Illumidas forces. She monitored the Illumidas forces very closely, for the more they searched, the more likely they would run into a group of patrollers. She was glad that they seemed to be suffering some sort of computer malady that had caused quite a few of their fighters to crash before they had all gotten grounded. She wondered about that, too. Whatever Angel had caused the Illumidas to be grounded was a good one in her book. It allowed them to search more quickly without interference. She just wondered how long it would be until their luck ran out.

OOOOOO

E'Verdit p'E'vfght was well pleased with himself. His catly cheeks puffed a bit with pride and his whiskers stood out in rampant display and his prehensile tail swished in satisfaction. To anyone who knew his people, they would have known that he was no longer the docile little slave he had been, but much closer to the warrior he was originally. He still bowed his head when his enslavers were in view, but his sharply narrowed eyes followed their backs in a predator's gaze. If only he still possessed his fangs! The blunted ends he wore currently were shameful to him. Regardless, he was very happy with the damage his little virus had caused. It made him purr, and he had had to stop himself from this unconscious response - for then his masters would have indeed known something was up!

All of Illumidas Command was in total disarray; the computers were causing all sorts of mayhem and havoc. Apparently, someone had tried to access Harlock's command tactics during the stunningly effective dogfight E'Verdit p'E'vfght had witnessed. The Captain was a worthy warrior, he thought. He had greatly admired the human's skill, nerve and effectiveness. He had wanted to roar in approval, but that would have been a dead give-away, too. So, he had merely watched, squatting down to keep his tail from lashing behind him in all the excitement.

Eventually, Supreme Commander Salsonen had found him and had roughly ordered him inside to see what he could do about the malfunctioning computers. E'Verdit p'E'vfght had complied, but he had been very happy to see the disastrous effects of his program and Salsonen's distracted, worried responses as nothing that was tried was currently effective.

E'Verdit p'E'vfght had last seen Harlock's flyer drop amazingly fast and then disappear in a puff of white smoke. He wondered what that meant, for he had never seen the like before. It was probably the work of the Arcadia's maker, Tochiro, he thought. It was obviously something new and very exciting. He had gone inside with regret, but had secretly smiled when he saw many Illumidas pilots bailing from their crashing fighters. He had trailed docilely behind Salsonen with his face turned down and tried very hard to droop his whiskers a bit more. He sternly told his tail to stop lashing about in satisfaction. And then he lowered his ears to a less militant position. He went back to his work station and retrieved his tools to repair the damage he had himself inflicted upon them.

Since he knew what he had done, he made a great effort to do work in the opposite but logical direction. As a result, the damage lasted longer and was much more effective than it had been originally as the viral program destroyed more and more programming within the Illumidas Command.

Worse yet, he noted somewhat cheerfully, it had also traveled to the fleet outside the orbit of Saturn. As a result, the fleet had also suffered great losses, many fighters had crashed onto the surface of the gas giant, crushed by the great atmospheres. The fighters had launched in desperation since the command ships had headed into the gravity well of the great ringed planet. Most were wiped out in the resultant viral attack that made navigation away from the planet impossible.

Couldn't have happened to a better group of people, he thought savagely with vengeance in his heart. A fang for a fang, a people for a people.

He slowly repaired the damage, but since the files were so corrupted, he didn't reinstall them. When his tasks were completed, all the data on Harlock, his crew, and Harlock's people, somehow vanished with much other intelligence; especially the data on the Resistance.

Salsonen was in a rage, as he railed at his Commanders in a cold conference. They were bruised and mentally battered as he took out his displeasure on them for failing to either capture or kill Harlock.

He never noticed that E'Verdit p'E'vfght, upon putting the completed work order on his desk, had lifted the file on Harlock from his desk and had tucked it into his workbag - that file had a different appointment. When Salsonen went back later, intent on re-entering the data after rereading it again, the file was nowhere to be found. Nor were the originals able to be located.

They never were found. Even after a thorough search through the whole command and in the Earth Forces Military Personnel Files Library. Gone. Completely. Not merely deleted, for those could be retrieved, but entirely gone as if they had never existed at all. Not only that, but EVERY military jacket and report was gone. From everywhere. Nor, were any of the military in High Command able to be found. They had also vanished overnight. The only remaining Earth Military left were those known to kowtow to the Illumidas. And these people were largely known to be cowards and highly ineffective in their roles.

Salsonen raged for days. The smarter Illumidas Commanders found things to do outside of his reach. E'Verdit p'E'vfght purred himself to sleep for about a week. Since no one cared what a beaten slave did, it also went unnoted.

OOOOOO

Aging Admiral Horatio Nimitz MacArthur, the titular head of the beaten Earth Force Navy stood at attention, attired in his outlawed Earth Force Navy full regalia uniform. Before him in a bonfire originally caused by Harlock's strafing runs, were Harlock's Military Fitness Reports, and all data on the now-pirate. The main data core of the military was also there, and the heat of the fires ensured that the data on the drives would be never be able to be retrieved. He had also ordered all of the back-up drives to be destroyed by people he trusted completely. The fires were wide spread across the Earth as the Resistance emerged to help with the confusion.

Horatio didn't want the enemy to ever be able to use the information on the military to run down a patriot who fought against the tyranny of their conquerors. It would also cripple their own ability to recall such men and women, but the safety of these people came first, he thought. He saluted as the fires melted the cores to a pulpy mass, eating the data. The paper files had been long since consumed by the blaze. The last of them had been brought to him by a strange alien who looked all the world like a cross between a very large tabby cat and monkey. It had spoken to him in a husky voice that had at times snarled and then purred. He liked cats so he really had to control himself with the very strong desire to stroke the alien's fur. Horatio had thanked the Being gratefully for his help, then watched as he swiftly loped off into the night.

The confusion of Harlock's attack, the loss of the outer fleet, and the massive computer malfunctions would allow him and the other higher command of Earth's Military to disappear in the morass. He had made contingency plans for such an event. Satisfied that the fire had consumed all data available on Harlock, the Resistance, and the former Military, he had picked up his travel bag and a sealed medium-sized box, which he handed to his grandson to carry, and calmly walked to a Galaxy Express Train Station. He boarded a train called 999 with the remainder of his family. Horatio handed the travel pass he had saved for this time to the little, strange, but cheerful blue-coated Conductor who didn't seem to have a body.

He and his family looked out of the passenger windows as the 999 pulled out of the train station, amidst the still burning city. His grandson and granddaughter pressed their noses against the windows to see the retreating Earth as they launched to the atmosphere towards the Black.

"Grandfather," the little girl asked, "where are we going?"

The little boy piped up, "When will we be coming back home again?

"A place where we will be safe, children. And we will return when something important happens." Horatio answered them gravely.

The two thought about that for a moment and then the little girl, a bit older and braver than her little brother, asked another question. "What needs to happen, grandfather?"

She turned her small face up to his, her bright blue eyes surrounded by already lovely long lashes. He'd have to keep an eye on her as she grew, he realized. She would be a lovely girl and would need protecting. He smiled at her wistfully and said, "We are waiting on a hero; he needs to learn who he is, first, and then he has to decide to help us, second." He fell silent and his gaze lengthened as he thought about what he had just said. The two children turned their attention back out the window to see all of the marvelous things passing by the windows of the 999. It was their first off-planet experience and it was both exciting and scary all at once. Having Grandfather present with them did help with the scary part.

The Admiral smiled to himself. He could just imagine the furor when Salsonen figured out that the entirety of the Earth Force Military had disbanded itself and then vanished into the woodwork. He opened his bag and looked at the data crystal he carried. There were five such crystals, each in the keeping of a trusted compatriot, each the head of the primary services in the military. On these precious and irreplaceable crystals, the structure for the Fifth Column of the Resistance and the former military of Earth resided. They were now all pirates, he thought amusedly. In order to save the Earth, they would have to scatter and build a way back. And find a way to kick those miserable Illumidas off of Earth once and for all.

"Where are you and your family headed?"

Nimitz turned his head toward the softly spoken voice and saw to his surprise, a beautiful golden waitress. She had a machine body, he saw, and she looked like a beautiful jewel in human form. He had heard of mechanical people, but hadn't seen one. He wondered why she had gone that route; what had caused her to abandon her own true form. He intended to age gracefully, humanly, but recognized that some would be tempted by the lure of immortality. He wondered if this had been what caused her to change.

"Out to Pluto," he responded, with a smile.

She cocked her lovely golden head at him in question. "Pluto?" She asked, "Why would a living person choose to visit a Planet of Graves?"

"I have a package to deliver," he said.

The Golden girl nodded and left a drink with him. It was a wonderful red bourbon, he noted. He sipped it with much enjoyment. It had been a long time, he thought. He remembered the last time he had tasted Bourbon like it.

It had been at Harlock's wedding, he thought, and smiled. It had been right before the war and that very promising Cadet Harlock had just graduated with high Honors. Ensign Harlock's proud Fleet Commander father and Trauma Surgeon mother had also been there, not to mention the Elder retired Admiral Harlock, Franz's grandfather. The Admiral leaned back in his seat and sipped the bourbon as he remembered that wonderful day. It had been before everything had gone to Hell, and Earth had still been theirs...

OOOOOO

A full Military wedding was being held at the "Chapel" in Annapolis. The quaint but beautiful chapel was an ancient tradition in the Navy. Early Navy men and women who had served in the original maritime navy had married there, often at the completion of their training, and prior to their deployment on assignment. This union was no different.

The "Chapel" held twenty five hundred people. Today, it was full of people, some Naval, many not. Quite a few were from Heiligenstadt. A large, beautiful copper dome was the crown of the church over the main altar, and several beautifully preserved, and gloriously colored, Tiffany stained glass windows graced the walls, many depicting Biblical scenes related to water. The main windows were deeply symbolic. One was of Sir Galahad holding a sheathed sword. Another showed Jesus walking on the water. The right Transept showed Michael, the warrior Archangel with the symbol for the Holy Spirit, a white dove, perched on his upward swept hand, while he grasped an unsheathed sword in his other hand for the declaration of war against all that is evil. Another window showed Gabriel, another Archangel, holding a set of rushes for annunciation of peace.

There were, however, some that spoke to the role of the Navy, whether terrestrial, or spacial. These windows showed naval officers reading orders, standing in rigging vigilantly looking for enemies, and other duties. Originally, these windows spoke to generations of a navy that served but one country, but later spoke to naval persons from every part of the Earth.

Beneath their feet in the crypt below, stood a magnificent marble sarcophagus of John Paul Jones, the legendary Captain in early history, when one country had fought for its independence from another that was forcing tyranny upon them. He was a man of an indomitable will, unwilling to consider surrender when the slightest hope of victory was still possible. In one battle, while his ship was taking on water and victory looked unlikely, he had been asked by the opposing commander if he was ready to surrender. His reply was echoed since then throughout Earth's history in other battles of merit: "Surrender? I have not yet begun to fight!"

John Paul Jones had been the founder of the modern Navy, Naval professionalism, with high standards in training new officers. Many sailors since then had remembered his declaration that he "Had no wish to have any connection with any ship that does not sail fast, for I intend to go in harm's way."

Horatio had sat in the pew, looking about him and remembering the history of this place, drinking in its history, grandness and meaning. He felt the years upon years of heroes who had sat here before him, their spirits and will to protect and defend, all around him. He wondered if others felt the Presence of them. He certainly had, when he had sat in this place as a new Plebe, and later when he graduated.

Today was a happy day, a day when two young people would forever join their lives together. The Groom, a mere twenty-one years of age, and the Bride, a younger nineteen. Young Ensign, Phantom Franz Harlock, the ninety-ninth, and his bride, Maya Annalise Schleutenheim. Horatio grinned. At least he wasn't the only one with a name to live up to, he thought.

Young Harlock would need that name in order to succeed, but more so, he would need the heart of John Paul Jones, himself. His father, was well known Captain Phantom Harlock, known as the Great Harlock, and his Grandfather, retired Rear Admiral Harlock were redoubtable warriors. These men all came from a long line of warriors, born and bred to protect and defend those under their care. If Young Harlock was anything like his elders, Earth would gain another generation of Harlock Naval excellence. Looking at the young man's Fitness Reports upon graduation, he strongly believed this man would surpass the former generations. He didn't know why he thought that, but he did. He already knew where he wanted Young Harlock to go and who he wanted him to learn under for his first assignment.

After his honeymoon, of course. He didn't want to deprive the poor boy of the joy of his new wife, after all!

Smiling to himself, he reached for his own wife's hand and grinned at her and she smiled back at him, also remembering a similar day for them, years before. He listened to the grand organ prelude to the nuptial ceremony and wondered what sorts of butterflies had to be flapping about in Young Harlock's stomach at that moment. Strong in battle? Yes, but in a ceremony? Ah, Harlock had his male predecessor's dislike for formal ceremonies and Horatio was very certain that young Franz was currently wishing he'd shipped out already...

The music changed and the bridal party started to come in. Young Franz came down the aisle with his mother on his arm, followed by his father and grandfather in formal dress naval uniforms, full of service decorations, known as "lettuce." Their chests were loaded down with the medals and honors. The men all also wore ceremonial swords at their sides. Although, when Horatio looked at them as the men passed by, those swords actually looked well used and functionally intact as they were all Gravity Sabers. He grinned. Rebels!

He also noted that while Young Franz was walking carefully and slower than usual with his beautiful, red-haired mother on his arm, he was also rather pale and some small beads of sweat were on his upper lip - not enough for anyone who didn't know him to notice. Yes, the boy was experiencing major butterflies he thought. If the boy hadn't been wearing gloves, he suspected that he would have been rather white-knuckled as he held his mother's hand on his arm. Horatio wondered if the boy's knees were shaking. His red-tinged brown hair had been combed to within an inch of its life. Horatio wondered idly how long that would last. It was well known that Harlock's hair was unruly at best.

Franz seated his mother after she and his father lighted the Groom's parent's candle. Interestingly, Franz's Grandfather lit the one for the Bride's parent's candle and then came back down the aisle to retrieve her. He remembered then that Maya had been orphaned as a preteen, and that she had come to live with her future husband's family after that; an arranged marriage but also quickly a love match. When Young Harlock talked freely, which was usually not very often, he spoke of Maya the most; a sure sign of total infatuation. Franz went to stand at attention, turned to see his bride, up in the nave beside an elderly Catholic Priest, dressed in high ecclesiastical robes. He had wispy white hair and a smile as wide as his shoulders, as he held a worn Bible against his breast. The other Groomsmen were also there, all dressed in their naval dress uniforms.

The music changed again, to the progress of the Bridesmaids, all dressed in a beautiful summery yellow. There were quite a few of them, and the number of Groomsmen matched their number. Franz and Maya were obviously well loved by their friends. Finally, a small girl and boy came down the aisle together, she dropping petals of yellow and white roses, he bearing a pillow holding two gold rings securely tied to the top of it. Both solemnly did their jobs. Oddly, an elderly orange tabby cat stalked down the aisle as well. The old boy was a bit stiff with age, but he held his ginger head high as he, too processed. He went and sat down by Franz's feet.

The organ swelled as the chapel doors again opened and the music changed to the Wedding March by Lohengrin. Harlock's grandfather bore on his arm the beautiful bride, Maya. She was encased in a white ball gown with lacy, long, close sleeves that came to a vee on the back of her hands, loaded down with diamond crystals and pearl beadwork. The pattern on the ball gown was, if one looked closely, that of her groom's family sigil, the skull and crossbones, worked across the dress bodice and into the body of the gown. Her veil covered her from crown to waist in the front and down her back, matching the cathedral length train. The edges were decorated with handmade Belgium lace, also decorated with diamond crystals and pearls. The train of the dress was also heavily worked in the diamonds, lace and pearls in the pattern of skull and crossbones emblems decorating the edges and the center of the long train. She was a sparkling, white vision with golden long hair shining beneath her veil and her diamond studded tiara. Horatio noted that the tiara appeared real - an interesting development. He wondered at its history. He also wondered how much that garment must weigh, given the heavy gem population.

Carrying a cascading bouquet of white roses, crystals, pearls and greens, she walked steadily on the Grandfather's arm and he proudly bore the bride down the aisle to his grandson. The elder Harlock was still straight and spare in his old age. The old man had to be at least eighty, Horatio thought. Yet, he still had a head full of white hair, clear vision and although his face was lined with age, he did not look to be that old. He also had a facial scar, the same as his son, and the same as his grandson, now that Horatio thought about it. How... odd that he had never recognized this fact before this moment.

The thought disappeared as his attention turned to Franz as his bride approached him on the old man's arm. Harlock looked at her and his paleness was gone. Instead, he looked intently upon Maya and smiled at her with a blindingly handsome smile as his grandfather placed her hand into his. They both turned to the Priest as the ceremony began.

Horatio fully enjoyed the ceremony, elegant in its formal nature, full of age old tradition in the Roman Catholic church's written protocols and sprinkled with personal additions from the happy young couple. Part of the vows were spoken in German, and part in Galactic Standard. Regardless, because of the tradition, he could hear the words as if they were all spoken in Standard, for he too, had vowed those same and similar things, years before. He glanced over at his wife, his own wonderful Alyssa. She squeezed his hand and smiled. She too, remembered.

At the end of the ceremony, when Franz actually got to kiss his bride, he needed help to figure out all the layers of her veil. His Groomsman helped him, as did the Maid of Honor. It was a small moment of humor in the solemn ceremony and a whisper of laughter circulated the church. Franz's face grew a little red, but he manfully continued to peel the veil away to get to his bride. As they peeled back the last layer, he gave her another brilliant smile of triumph, then held her face cupped in his hands for a moment as he gazed deeply into her eyes. Everyone melted at the sign of his devotion to her, and his desire to memorize this moment forever in his heart. He bent down slightly to kiss her upturned face. First her forehead, then each cheek and then finally, he found his bride's mouth. The two drank of each other for a moment as the church erupted in huzzahs and cheers. She wrapped her arms up around his neck and the two hugged tightly as he lifted her up to hold her against him, and then set her gently back on her feet.

The Priest behind them raised his arms up to Heaven and blessed the couple before him. At that moment, the sun decided to burst into the chapel in full glory, sending brilliant colors against the white of the bridal couple and their clothes lit and danced with the colors from the beautiful stained glass windows. It was as if Heaven had decided to bless them as well. It was a magical moment and then the cheers broke out again, especially from the people of Heiligenstadt, Horatio noticed. He wondered what the Harlock family was to the people of Heiligenstadt, for obviously these were more than just friends. And there were an awful lot of them, now that he thought about it.

The Bridal party recessed down the aisle to sprightly music and Maya and Franz finally came down, her leaning rather heavily on his arm, both excited, relieved nothing major had gone awry, and smiling. Horatio wondered again how much her gown weighed, with all the jewels on it, the train and veil. He hoped she got to wear something lighter for the reception!

At the back of the church, before the couple emerged, the time honored tradition of the bride and groom coming down the steps, under an overhead arch of drawn, crossed ceremonial swords was conducted. The shining swords sang in the sunlight and glinted silver and gold in the arch above their young heads. It was a picture memory for Horatio, knowing that he, too, had once stood under that arch with a new beautiful young bride.

The horse drawn carriage, loaded down with garlands of greenery and white roses, waited for the two, and Franz handed his new bride up into the open carriage; working with the Maid of Honor to get Maya's voluminous train inside as well. He had a momentary reaction of surprise when he realized that in order for him to get in with her, he was going to have to vault over her dress and train. Maya chuckled at him behind her hand in amusement. Franz shrugged his shoulders and then vaulted up and over, somersaulting once in midair, landing neatly where the dress wasn't. He then sat down next to his bride, laughed, and said something to Maya. She giggled. The crowd cheered his acrobatics and he stood up again to bow to them and laugh. The two were driven off by a driver to the reception, after whatever still photos were needed to be obtained.

OOOOOO

It had been a grand day, Horatio thought. Then sadness consumed him. That beautiful young bride was now dead, cut down in her youth. The groom was a hunted and wanted pirate, fighting still for his people who no longer honored him.

And, he, an old warhorse, was going away from the fight, to save what he could. He turned and looked at his grandchildren. They were all that remained. His beloved Alyssa was gone, dead in the final bombardment. His only child, a son, and his wife, the precious daughter-in-law, also were killed. He, an old man, and the promise of the future in two children's eyes, were all that remained. He had to protect them to protect the future.

He squared his shoulders and thought through the plan they had all devised. It would not be easy, but then, anything worthwhile, never was easy. And much depended on the slim but broad shoulders of a young man who now was exiled, outlawed and bore a price on his head.

OOOOOO

_Author's Note__: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I have wanted to write the wedding of Harlock and Maya for some time - it has been in my head for a few years now, and finally on "paper." And yes, I shamelessly put it in the Chapel at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. It is a magnificent place, and very suitable for Harlock; he has lots of John Paul Jones in him, and I wanted to honor that. It also has time honored traditions for marriage, which I have borrowed for this tale. Look up the Naval chapel and the Tiffany glass windows it holds. They are truly magnificent. I think you will agree._

_Unfortunately, while I've been to Germany near where Harlock was really born and raised, I never got to visit Heiligenstadt itself, nor it's castle's chapel, so was uncertain to its suitability. I also wanted you to get to meet the Admiral a bit more. And, above all, you now have met the majors of the Schulte family and Doc Thea. Now, the players of the piece are all in place..._


End file.
